To Slay Or Not to Slay the Dragon
by Trynia Merin
Summary: Coauthor Janeth Rhian! Written in 1999 reposted. Macbeth's past mistakes to a dragon must be reconciled by King Arthur and their protogee Dr. Ellis, and Chas Cassidy. Sequel to St. George's Gift.
1. Fired in San fran, hired in NYC

Disclaimer: The characters of Gargoyles are property of Disney. The characters of Dr. Marianne Ellis and Cameron Ellis are property of me, Trynia Merin. Charles Quin Cassidy and Michelle Jennfer Cassidy as well as the magical sword Wavedancer are property of Javagoddess which I use with her permission. Our characters mean no harm to the show. Mummies Alive characters mentioned are property of DIC. My thanks to Jade for html coding and editing, and to Javagoddess for her inspiration in this one! This was written back in 1999 and is reposted here.

**To Slay the Dragon or Not to Slay:**

By Trynia Merin/Janeth Rhian

**_Part 1: Fired in San Francisco and Hired in New York_**

Plot synopsis: Mary faces yet another challenge under St. George. After she and Chas go forth from Avalon, they find themselves back in New York. Mary calls home to find that she has lost her job due to cutbacks. She sets about trying to find a new job.

* * *

June 1999, San Francisco New Museum:

Let go. The phrase had such mixed connotations to the young scientist. Instantly her cozy world at the San Francisco Museum had been shattered by the phrase. The blow hit her hard and personal.

"What am I going to do?" she lamented, as she stumbled out of the office. Someone helped her to pack her stuff into a cardboard box. One or two were put on a dolly, and crated out as somebody took her arm. In the front lobby her eyes fell upon that familiar figure in the black leather jacket and comfortably snug blue jeans. Ponytail flipped over his shoulder, he moved quickly to her side. And grabbed one of the cardboard boxes a woman was carrying.

"What's goin' on here?" he asked, with a hint of protectiveness.

"I've been sacked," she said, in a daze.

"Excuse us sir, this is company business... if you would kindly not interfere."

"What do ye mean sacked?" Chas exploded, his temper getting the better of him. "What fool idjit said that of her?"

"Mr. Cassidy, kindly vacate the premises or a security guard will escort you off the property."

"Chas, please, don't make it any worse than it already is," Marianne moaned. They had reached the front door, and the photojournalist was still hot under the collar about the whole thing. Here he had come to surprise Marianne pleasantly by picking her up from work. To find her being escorted out of the building with cardboard boxes of her stuff.

"I'm being let go," she said. "Termination of employment."

Chas gripped up the stack of boxes, forcefully pulling them off the luggage cart with a snort.

"Let's get out of here," Marianne sighed as the doors clanged shut behind them.

"Aye it's high time," Chas muttered. Marianne promptly sat on the front step, hugging her knees. Chas put the two boxes down, and slipped his arm around his love. Her body temperature dropped precipitously as she hugged against him.

"Musha it's no the end of the world." he soothed as she began to shake.

"It's the end of mine," Marianne said, feeling the reality sink in. "That's the career then."

"But ye said termination of employment. Ye weren't fired were ye?"

"No, but it's as bad as that!" she exploded. "You know how difficult it is to get jobs like this for a scientist like me?"

Chas hugged her even closer. "I have an idea. I may not be a scientist, but I do know it's hard t' find work nowadays. But don't ye despair. We'll sort this out... I promise."

"You are remarkably too good to me," she sighed. And pushed back angry tears that threatened to form. A sick feeling rose in her stomach as the emptiness clouded her thoughts. "Damn these museums and their budgets," she spat.

Gently Chas raised the scientist to her feet. "Let's go now... easy... musha... let's get y' home nau," he soothed, helping to pick up her boxed items. The other things such as lab journals and the lot would be sent to her house post haste they said.

Chas stacked her boxes on the rack of his motorcycle. Rather violently Marianne pulled at the elastic clips and yanked them over the cargo. AS she took her seat in the sidecar, and they slipped their helmets on, she glanced sidelong at the museum. Would she ever see it again? Chas rode past the Sphinx annex. Marianne took another glimpse at it, the emptiness continuing to consume her. A chilling numbness set in, washing out her anger. It seemed as if she were seeing a chapter in her life closing down.

First Rath and she had parted ways. And she slowly distanced herself from the Guardians of Rapses. Then she had met Chas, and slipped into a world of pubs and Irish intrigue as she discovered a side of San Francisco that she had not before. It was soon after that she had the strange visitation with the demonic Gargoyle in the museum... And here she was now. Unemployed. With the man she loved dearly, but with no means of support for herself. Dare she ask Chas for any more help? It seemed so hard to tell. Of course he would help her in any way he could. Yet she felt proud of her career, her independent life.

She sighed as Chas helped her move the boxes into her basement entrance. Cameron opened the door, and helped them. "Rum luck, sis," he sympathized. "I got the news as soon as I heard that board meeting. I mean to lodge a protest of that! They need a good chemist."

"Cameron, what's done is done. They don't have it in their budget for a forensics lab anymore."

Marianne sighed. Cam shot a concerned look to Chas as they wrestled her stuff inside his downstairs apartment. "But I assure you I'll do everything to help you Mary. Don't worry about the rent for the next few months... I'll..."

"You're a brick Cam," she sighed. "But somehow I don't want to owe you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mary," Cam said. "After all, I am your brother."

"It will all work out, Musha," Chas assured her. With the two main men in her life on her side, how could she fail? Marianne grinned ruefully at this thought. It had taken a bit of doing for both to get along. But the fact that Chas was a living breathing man and not a 3500-year-old mummy did make it easier to explain than her previous love.

"It's just frightful the mess this is," Cameron muttered as they gathered in Marianne's apartment.

"I'll put the kettle on," Cameron offered.

"I think I need something with alcohol in it," she grumbled. "Chas, be a dear and get a Guinness and make it two. On second thought have we any whisky?"

"Easy now," Chas laughed softly. "It's no the end of the world. Just the beginning of another phase in life."

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. Gratefully she sipped the bitter ale. Chas joined her, sitting close beside her on the mission style sofa. Cameron selected a beverage, sitting across from the two in the easy chair. His close cropped blonde hair he ran a hand through as his gray eyes fixed upon the couple. She really was lucky to have found such a man as this fellow, he thought. Even if he was a bit rough, and Irish to boot. Still Cam had a thing about the Irish. Ancient prejudices. Considering he was half-Scots himself. Cameron almost went blind tracing the Celtic spirals on Chas shirt as they sipped in silence.

"What now?" Cameron asked her. "Surely the San Jose museum would have need for a scientist like you Sis. I know a fellow..."

"Cam, I appreciate it. But somehow I am sick of this whole city. The West Coast... it's maddening... somehow I feel as if this happened for a good reason."

"That's ridiculous," Cameron said. "Why you could..." A warning look from Chas stopped him. "Why do you want to move away?"

"I don't feel as if I belong here anymore."

"If this is about the rent... don't worry, I can absorb it!" Cameron said.

"Cam, you and I have lived together for a long time. It's time that you had your own place. We're thirty-one years old! You may be my little brother, but you have to live your own life!"

"But you are my sister, I cannot just leave you in the lurch!"

"That's not what I mean Cameron. I need... to have a fresh start. I might have to face the fact of moving again."

"Where? Back to England?"

"If need be," she sighed. "But I doubt the British museum is looking for scientists."

"There's always New York," Chas offered softly. "Plenty of museums on the East Coast. And in most cities... And there is also all of Europe itself."

"I'd miss you," Cameron sighed. "But let's not cross bridges before we come to them, eh? Or burn them for that matter either."

"I'll join ye in that metaphor," Chas said. "Mary? What do ye want t' do?"

"I don't know..." she sighed. "I just don't know."

* * *

Mary slowly woke from a sleep. She lay there in her bed, pillow moist with tears. The phone was ringing, and it was early in the morning. Hastily she scrabbled to get the phone in the morning light.

Her hand tipped a lamp, sending it flying onto the carpet. Cursing under her breath she finally clasped the phone and put it to her sleepy ear.

"H-hello?" she muttered.

"I am trying to reach a Dr. Marianne Ellis," said a crisp voice at the end of the phone.

"Mm, speaking," she muttered. "This is the human resources department at Gen-u-Tech. We received your resume from a placement service... and we would like you to come for an interview."

"Gen-u-Tech?" she asked, rubbing her head.

"Yes, Dr. Ellis. WE would like to fly you out for an interview... in New York City... all expenses paid."

"What?"

"How would in one week be... are you busy then?"

"Yes... uh no." she stammered. And sent her glasses flying as she struggled to get out of bed.

* * *

July 1999, New York City:

A week later Marianne Ellis walked out of the door of Gen-u-Tech. It wasn't what she'd hoped for. Genetic research conjured up images of Dr. Moreau. It really wasn't the case, but their cloning project scared her. That man, who had interviewed her, had given her the creeps too. Dr. Anton Sevarious was a noted man in his field, but this just didn't seem right... She had told them she'd think about it. As Marianne wandered down the street she glanced left and right. It hadn't been too long ago that she'd been here in NYC on a different matter. That involved some strange creatures, as strange as Mummies.

"Hey lady, can you spare a dime?" asked a man as he slipped out of an office building. Marianne kept on walking.

"What's your hurry sister," said another, a woman as she stepped in Marianne's way. That gleam in their eyes stopped her cold. Instantly Marianne swung her briefcase into the woman's arms, stepping on her foot. The man lunged, but Marianne spun, her fist connecting into his jaw in a sharp uppercut. But then another two had joined them. They grasped Marianne's arms, pulling her back into an alley. Heart pounding she tried hard to think of what next to do.

As she muttered and wrestled to mind, she realized she didn't have the Egyptian bracelet in her hand. Worse, the gauntlet for her armor she had left behind in San Francisco! Already the evening was coming. Marianne struggled valiantly, screaming, "FIRE!" at the top of her lungs.

Perhaps the noise would alert someone. She hated to play the maiden in distress, but foolishly she had forgotten her means of protection. Suddenly she heard a hiss that came as she saw a flash of steel. And a fast kick to one of the men as he spun around, swinging his chain. Marianne used the distraction to drop, and flip the two men holding her as she backed away. One good sharp kick to the groin of one, and she gripped her high heeled shoe. Marianne turned the heel up, slashing at the other's face with her pump. With spectacular results. He clutched his cheek, snarling. She then followed through with a knee to his stomach.

Another held a baseball bat. There was a bloodcurdling scream as a glistening arc sliced through the wood in one stroke, and the flat of the sword hit against the man's legs, cutting him down. A hand grabbed Marianne's, pulling her away as she was extracted from the alley. A long sword and a dirk swung in glistening arcs as Chas faced off against the two remaining thugs.

"Who do you think you are, sword boy? The highlander?" one joked.

"Let's see if he's immortal like that guy on TV!" the other laughed. But instead of attacking with his blades, Chas let fly with a kick. As one pulled a gun, his weapon slashed the muzzle, blooding the other's hand.

"Now git, ye amadons!" Chas growled, hooking the strap of Mary's briefcase over his sword arm. Behind him Mary put her shoe back on, still breathing in anticipation. Deciding it was better to flee than fight, the thugs took off, leaving their friends behind, out cold.

"Mary, are ye all right?" Chas asked, swinging both weapons as they vanished in a blaze of energy beneath his jacket.

"They scared the devil out of me, if that's what you want to know," she breathed. His hand closed on her shoulder as they moved quickly out of the alley. "What... in the name of... are you..."

"Doing in the middle of New York?" he asked. "I found yer hotel, and they said ye were here... 'Twas a simple matter indeed t' track ye down..."

"You could have called," Marianne sighed, as she struggled to fix her hair up into its French braid again. Strands had worked themselves loose in the struggle. They rode upon a bus, headed uptown to Mary's hotel.

"Yer welcome fr me saving yair life," he said.

"I'm sorry, luv," she sighed. "I really do appreciate it but it was a surprise seeing you just show up like some dratted knight in shining armor."

"Face it, ye don't hate me rescuing you as much as yer letting on," Chas said, nudging her in the side. At his touch she jumped, for it was that spot just under one rib that was most ticklish.

"Hullo, that's not fair," she squealed, as he began to tickle her a bit. All the events of the past few minutes rushed away at this simple childish game.

"You louse!" she laughed, unable to catch her breath. "I'll get you for this."

"I k'n hardly wait," he chuckled, as her hand slipped under his jacket, to a spot just beneath his arm. It was his turn to laugh. His baritone voice, deeper than Rath's, echoed in musical laughter throughout the bus. Yet few noticed, for the wailing children and the chatter of people on cellphones drowned it out. A few amused smiles fell on the couple as they tickled each other mercilessly.

"So what really brings you here?" she asked him. "Did you have to twist your sister's arm or something?"

"Hmm, she sent me here on a story," he said. "T' renew some business contacts... fr' don't forget that she and I lived here a while ago. Seeing as yer looking her fr a job, I thought I'd check up on ye."

"That was sweet of you to come after me," she said. "I know that's the real reason you are here... so what do you owe Shelly this time?"

"I don't think she'd take t' being called that nickname," Chas smiled. "Where are you staying?"

"Michelle still is renting an apartment in Queens... in an auld friend's house of ours. Niver had th heart t' give up the lease... and besides, it's handy fr doing business in the City. Sometimes she or I come out here t' sample the local community. I'll be staying here fr a while anyway."

"But what about 'being near your family?'," Marianne asked him.

"That can wait fr' now," he said, taking her hand. "So what's the story about the big interview?"

"To tell you the truth, it leaves me a bit cold," she sighed. "A lot of genetic research there."

"Cloning any sheep are they?"

"No Chas," she shook her head at his weak joke. "But it's not what I want to do... I want to keep doing my analytical... but not as a QC chemist... or just anything else... I just..."

"Hmm, how about yuir friends?"

"Xanatos?" she asked. "I think they were the ones who got me this. I wouldn't put it past Fox to have 'convinced' them that I was a good scientist for the job. But no. Even though they said they were opening a new facility in three months in England... and there was a chance I could be going back there."

"Where in England?" Chas asked. "A small town, in the Midlands. So quiet I've never heard of it... and I'm from England."

"I niver asked where ye were from?"

"I was born in Cairo. But my ancestors... lived up in Scotland. My mother's family... the Linsays and MacLarens, they were from the Hielands as you know. Living in Glasgow. My mum met my Da on a lecture tour at University. She was studying Arthurian legends. Hmm it's funny how that all works out. Anyway, they met, fell in love and married. Although Mum was fair near 30 when she had me, and Cameron."

"How about yer Da?" he asked.

"Well, hmm, he was even more diverse in his past. Father lived in London, and managed to pass his A-levels in history. He came from a working class family, and it was Granda's wish that he be educated as a proper gentleman... so when he got a scholarship to Cambridge, he took it and left far behind. That and elocution lessons all but erased the Welsh from his voice."

She said this with a sigh. "He had Gran t' thank for that," she muttered, slipping into a bit of Scots burr, which evaporated when she coughed. "Granda was a Londoner... married a Welsh coalminer's daughter. Funny, eh? Met during the War."

A faraway look came over Marianne's face as she told Chas about her family. She had not done much of this before, respecting his need for secrecy at first. But he had waited till the right time for her to reveal her own heritage. And now seemed the right time. She went on speaking of it as they returned to her hotel room, and sat quietly on her double bed simply talking.

* * *

A week later found Marianne hard at work in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Having taken a bit of a pay cut she now ran a carbon 14 machine in house. It was a busy job, but rewarding. She remembered how Chas had brought her a sack of groceries to that new apartment that Xanatos had rented her. And they had a small dinner together. The Upper West Side apartment was rather ostentatious, furnished with lavish modern pieces, and tall paintings that David Xanatos so loved. Where their friends often stayed, if they were not liking the Castle. 

"Don't worry about the first month's rent," Xanatos had told her. "Just enjoy the view."

She didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Even though Xanatos often had his own agenda for doing something philanthropic. She was just coming down the steps of the MOMA when she saw the sun beginning to set. All around her bustled the night of the City, as it never slept. She walked along the edge of Central Park, simply absorbing the sights and sounds of the City singing into the evening. There came a sound of something softly gliding, as she glimpsed up. Winged shapes passed over the face of the Moon. And she smiled. The last missing piece of her new life had been filled. A mystery to which she was privy.

Moving into the Park, she knew a secret path that was a shortcut to her apartment building. Although Chas had warned her against walking in the City alone at night, she strangely didn't feel at risk. Even when a trio of dark shapes suddenly appeared out of the forest, by the carousel. Eyes blazed white-hot fire in their faces. She boldly strode up to the trio.

"Hey there!" came a friendly voice from the slender reddish figure, folding his wings. "Long time no see!"

"What brings ya to the big apple?" asked the largest of the three.

"You're the last person we expected to see here!" came the highest pitched voice.

"Brooklyn, Lexington... Broadway," she smiled. "You're a sight for sore eyes... how is everything? Goliath, Angela, Elisa?"

The trio surrounded her, clasping her hands and asking a million questions at once. They all knew her as a friend to Elisa and Goliath. Thus she was a friend of the Clan.

"One at a time chaps," she laughed.

"You really shouldn't be out alone this time of night," Brooklyn told her.

"Yeah," Broadway added.

"We saw you walking alone, and were keeping an eye on you, just in case some thugs were going to jump you," Lexington said. "But we're glad to know you're okay."

"Where were you three yesterday," she laughed.

"What! What happened yesterday?" Brooklyn asked, eyes beginning to flash with anger. She told them of her encounter with some street gangs. And the timely rescue by her boyfriend.

"Good thing he showed up," Lexington said to her. "But why are you here in Manhattan?"

"Thought you lived in 'Frisco," Brooklyn said.

"It's a long story. And I'd be glad to tell you over a cup of tea."

"C'mon let's give you a lift home," Brooklyn offered. All three of them surrounded her as they walked her back to the edge of the park. She gripped Brooklyn about the neck as he climbed the nearest building's side. And closed her eyes. Soon she was flying through the air on the slender Gargoyle's back. Lexington and Broadway dropped into formation at his left and right, gently soaring in the nighttime breezes. Till they alit on her balcony, and she fished out her keys to let herself in the 20th floor suite.

Broadway sniffed the air as she climbed through the window. "You're welcome to come in and have a cup of tea. I wouldn't mind."

"You don't have to," Broadway started.

"It's no bother really."

"Come to think of it I am a little hungry," Broadway said, with a cautious look from Brooklyn. "One thing, I hope you like treacle... I've loads of it left when I tried to make it for Chas..." The three cautiously slipped in. "Man this is sure a ritzy digs," Broadway muttered. His eyes fell hungrily on the sets of bookcases loaded with her books. Lexington glimpsed her computer set up nearby. "Wow, what model is that?"

"A power book. But the CD ROM's been packing up."

"May I look at it..." Lexington volunteered, as he moved quickly to the small device. Before long he was lifting it, sniffing it as he turned it this way and that.

"Tell me where the stuff is, and I'll set up the refreshments..." Broadway offered. "You've had a rough day."

"You sure have it nice here, Ms. Ellis," Brooklyn commented. "Do you mind if I ask... how you can afford to live here? Elisa said something about Fox."

"Yes," she said. "I tried to tell them I didn't need their help, but you know how they are when they have their mind's made up."

"Yeah," Lexington said, shaking his head. He heard the clangs and bangs coming from the kitchen as Broadway hunted for the cocoa. Before long he had been the one to actually set things up for tea and hot chocolate. Lexington was busily pulling the CD out of her computer as he fiddled with the ejection mechanism. Brooklyn stood near the open window, as if ever vigilant.

"Brooklyn, do you chaps know anyone named MacBeth?" she asked. Brooklyn's ears pricked up at the sound of the name. Lexington looked up from his puttering. In one clawed hand he held a screwdriver, the other clutched her CD-ROM.

"Yeah. He's okay with us now," the gargoyle Second in command said. "Actually he stood up for us on TV."

"Yeah with those dumb Quarrymen everywhere," Broadway said from the kitchen. "You should have heard him calling that one Assistant DA a witch!"

Lexington grinned as he slipped the component back into her computer. Marianne marveled as the CD door opened and shut without sticking. "You really have a way with machines, don't you?"

"It's a knack," he said, claws flying across the keyboard as he installed the new drivers. "You just had the wrong driver installed."

"Who wants marshmallows?" Broadway asked, shuffling in with a tray of mugs steaming hot.

"Have a seat, and take the load off," Brooklyn said, as he pulled up a footstool for Marianne. The others perched on sofas and fine chairs. Lexington continued to work his own brand of magic on her PC.

"You chaps are sure one warm- welcoming committee... you don't have to."

"Well, to tell you the truth, Elisa asked us... to keep an eye on you," Brooklyn said, voice lowered. "Yeah. She was worried you might feel... nervous... since you told her about that street gang attacking you on your first day," Broadway said. "I wish we were there."

"It's quite all right. Chas was there," she said. "I know. He really kicked some tail," Brooklyn said, helping himself to some of Marianne's pastries. "Did he really pull his weapons on them?"

"Actually he gave them a larruping... I mean a stern spanking."

"Hah I would have loved to see that," Broadway smiled. "Did he haul the bums in?"

"No such luck. They..."

"They rabbited," Broadway muttered.

"Darn!" She chuckled at his TV cop slang. And for the first time didn't feel quite so lost. For part of the unique mystery of Elisa's friends was here. When they had finished their cocoa they set out to leave.

"Take care, and do stop by again," Marianne said. "Give Goliath and Elisa my thanks!"

"Take it easy," the Trio waved as they alit one by one off her balcony.

* * *

August 1999:

A whole month had passed, and Marianne slowly settled into her new life. She had briefly gone back home to send her belongings to her new address. It was a bittersweet time for her, leaving the old behind. But as she saw Cameron's wistful face as she boarded her flight, she sighed. It was necessary. Something awaited her there. And she had to go. To leave the Mummies, the Museum, and her old life far behind.

Little did she know of what awaited her around the corner? One particular day she walked home from her museum job, groceries in hand when she accidentally bumped into a museum patron walking up the stairs. "Oh, excuse me ma'am," came the Scottish accented voice. Marianne looked into his face, seeing the silvered hair and beard of a familiar countenance.

"MacBeth," she whispered.

"It's Lennox MacDuff here," he whispered back, lips close to her ear. "And what pray tell would ye be doin' in the City?"

"I might ask you the same question... Mr. MacDuff," she said. "I happen to work here."

"And I happen to live here, not far," he answered, taking the groceries in his arm. "A pleasure to see you again, lass..." His powerful hand gripped hers, and she felt a thrill of excitement in his touch. This was crazy! He was once an enemy, when last they met. Yet he had proved to be under the influence of Morgan le Fay's enchantment from afar!

"So ye live here, eh?" he asked. "As I recall, you had quite a position in San Francisco."

"It's a long story," she sighed. "And not one for the open air."

"Aye. Care to tell me over a bit of dinner?"

"Er, I don't know," she said, and felt herself blushing a bit. How silly! She had a boyfriend! Chas! Who was perhaps this man's old enemy! Whatever had passed between the Erin born reporter and MacBeth, she shuddered to think. For they had met with intense hatred that comes with centuries of feud.

"I... don't think that would be a good idea," she said. "I am meeting... someone."

"Hmm, yair man no doubt," MacBeth said, a thoughtful look on his face as he stroked his beard.

"Whatever business you two have... doesn't concern me. But if you are planning to hurt him... I will not be party to it."

"Lass, whatever makes you so suspicious?" he asked, and smiled a most disarming smile. She shook her head. "For that is something betwixt him and me. And need not involve the present. It will be settled in its own time. And in an honorable fashion, as gentleman should. Not in games... I come to you as one who fought by your side... and wishes to greet you and welcome you with his hospitality."

"I am flattered, Mr. MacDuff, but I really must decline."

"The offer still stands. And to my friends, I am Lennox."

"Hmm, very well," she said. "Perhaps... if you happen to drop by the museum again."

"You have quite a selection of artwork, well preserved and maintained. No doubt your skills are praised here."

"It's a living," she shrugged, as he hailed her a taxi for her ride home. And bade her farewell.

Marianne kicked herself at the sudden shivers that came over her. Shame! She was in a relationship! Lately it seemed many men were attracted to her! Even older ones such as this MacBeth! He was attractive and debonair. Mischievous, and mysterious. Much like her own love. Perhaps that was the appeal. What had MacBeth seen over the centuries?

She was just getting in the door when she came across Chas. He was waiting for her, as he often did lately, carrying a plastic sack, which probably had some ingredients for a wonderful dinner. She felt shame flush her face as she realized she had spoken to his ancient enemy. Marianne thanked goodness that Chas would not read her mind without being asked. Still he was a bit suspicious as she said little, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Are ye all right, Mary?" he asked. "Ye look as if ye've seen a ghost."

"Just... a long day," she said evasively. "I'm dead tired... and ravenous."

"All the same why I should come," he said, handing her the sack, which appeared to have frozen beef, fresh cabbage, and onions. "There's a three course dinner fr' two in this here... and all that separates us from it is a good hour."

"Sounds wonderful," she said, unlocking the twin dead bolts as she swung free the door. Modern furniture greeted them, and the smell of fresh vanilla and cinnamon. Mary's favorite sachet was poured into a small bowl near the entry table. Fresh air seeped in through a half-opened window, wafting the scent into their noses. A nice combination to come home too.

"Ye've added yuir touch to the place right enou," he said, helping her remove her coat.

"Yes. Amazing what a few things can do. I'm sorry I've been distant. It's just that the museum is taking so much tim."

"As it should," he smiled, with a wistful look in his eyes. Did he suspect something had cast a pall on their cozy relationship? What would he say if she had mentioned MacBeth?

"Have ye been practicing what I taught ye?" he asked, as he wandered into her kitchen. She carried the fixings for dinner to keep up with him.

"Yes. But there is so much to learn."

"That wuild take a long time indeed," he joked with her. "Even so I've seen the fire in your eyes. Yer a born warrior. A fighter with the blood of Hielanders in your veins."

"But if that is the case, I was wondering if you knew of any masters I could continue to take lessons with... after you... go back."

"What makes ye ask?"

"Well, you admitted yourself you weren't the master of swordplay. That perhaps once I mastered what you taught me..." Chas sighed deeply. "I don't think it would be a guid idea to force so much so soon. I don't... want... to."

"You don't want me to learn? What is that?" she asked, a bit angry with him.

"It's not that I don't want you to. It's... just that I don't want to take the risk of letting someone else... teach ye t' kill."

"Chas, what is going on here?" she asked. Slowly he took her hands in his, and kissed them.

"Mary, it's nowt t' do with my love for you. And everything t' do with it. But a sword isn't the only solution."

"St. George called me for a purpose! And I owe it to him and myself to be the best there is. I want to know as much as you can teach me."

"And ye will learn! We will have our times together... and I promise you will be the best I can make you. But I don't want all our time to go t' fighting. For I only have a month here."

"Chas I know."

"Humor me, Mary. I've been trying t' convince my sister to let me stay on here."

"But what about being near your family?" she asked.

"Mary, you are like family to me," he said softly. "And there are some things that I would share with you that I cannot with Michelle, or Mum or Da. I've been looking for work here... it won't come overnight... and it may be a few months before I can come out her for permanent."

"I know... but when you are gone... there must be someone who can help me keep my skills sharp."

"Hmm. Maybe," he said. "We'd best be moving along... there's a concert at the Lincoln center I thought I'd take you to see."

"Not tonight Chas," she sighed. "I'm sorry... but I've been overdoing it... enjoy yourself."

"As ye wish," he said, kissing her hand as he left. Leaving Mary feeling a bit distanced at his confused demeanor.


	2. Cassidy vs Macbeth

_Disclaimer: The characters of Gargoyles are property of Disney. The characters of Dr. Marianne Ellis and Cameron Ellis are property of me, Trynia Merin. Charles Quin Cassidy and Michelle Jennfer Cassidy as well as the magical sword Wavedancer are property of Javagoddess which I use with her permission. Our characters mean no harm to the show. Mummies Alive characters mentioned are property of DIC. My thanks to Jade for html coding and editing, and to Javagoddess for her inspiration in this one!_

**To Slay Or Not to Slay the Dragon  
**

By Trynia Merin/ Janeth Rhian

**_Part 2: Ancient Feuds_**

* * *

****

****1035 AD Scotland

Laughter ensued from the lofty halls of Castle Moray. It was early fall, the harvest having been taken in little by little by the toiling of the serfs under the Clan's protection. Frost began to chill the air, precipitating on every leaf and sheaf that was not already safely gathered in. Among the shorn fields ran the road to the Castle, splitting the fields in twain as it wound around the hillside towards the cliff. Many a traveler passed by this way in Summer for Tournament, and Spring for Maying and such. Still they tolerated the fires of Beltain secretly, knowing many of the old religion still sneaked away to practice such pagan rites. Many a druid still crept among the trees to do their own rituals, unmolested. There was still powerful magic in the countryside, that even the new religion brought a few generations ago, could not ignore or suppress without uprising from some of the powerful Clans. MacBeth stood at Gruoch's side, thumbing his chin thoughtfully as he watched his lad playing.

It was another such day free of battle, free of danger save those of the disruptive clan feuds that might erupt without his mediation. Always something shuffled the powers amongst the various Clans and alliances in Scotland. Then it was either King or counselor that put it to rights, by his reason, or by sword if need be. "Moray is still beautiful this time, beloved," Gruoch cooed into his ear, and he sighed.

"Indeed I far prefer it to the usual pageantry of Scone," he muttered his affirmation. Here at Moray they could relax a bit, far from the usual hustling at the main seat of power.

"Has been ten years past since we quit these halls, and I miss them so," she sighed back. "Aye, my wife. I too long for simpler times... but think of the many days we have not had worry of battle. And I am at your side as I always wished. I grow sick of war."

"One only wishes the clans themselves would behave," she whispered, lowering her voice.

"There's no denying there's no love lost between Stuart and others," he muttered. It was a tenuous peace holding Scotland together. Yet Moray, his ancestral clan, held much wealth and power, keeping the smaller clans in line. And now that Moray was fused with the main holdings of the King, it remained his chief duty to keep Scotland strong and united. For if it fractured, it could fall and the pieces would take all God's wisdom to glue together. Suddenly there came a clattering of armored feet upon the stairs. Gruoch drew in her breath sharply as her father and several other retainers moved into their chambers.

"Do forgive the intrusion, Sire, but there has been a ghastly accident from one of the outer Clan's properties," Grouch's father Bodhe, and MacBeth's steward huffed.

"Father... I thought ye were out t' hunt," she said.

"And what prey we found that found us," muttered one of the others, Constantine.

"Hush lad," Bodhe muttered. "What is this... that has found you?"

"Your favorite squire, had found it fit to follow the rabbit to the forest depths... along the outer forest of your land... and later when he did not return, we sought the council of several bewildered clansmen under Moray's allegiance... and they were sore afraid. Yon lad lay sick abed with many a blooded wound."

"What?" MacBeth gasped. "My son's friend, and cousin Hamish down?"

"They moaned and said a Dragon itself had been seen."

"Dragon?" asked MacBeth. Gruoch shivered. "But we have not seen scale nor wing of such in Moray for centuries!"

"Aye tis true. But it is said they lay in wait, for their waiting comes in droves."

"Not to question, but my son had sought one for his spurs, and there were none to be found in all of Moray," MacBeth muttered. "True, but they saw it the same. And the clawmarks have said it so."

"Could it not be a Gargoyle?"

"Don't even say that!" MacBeth snapped. "You know we are allied with Demona's clan... and she is my chief advisor. If she were to even suspect you accuse one of hers you'd be as good as dead."

"Forgive me but it is a valid query," Gruoch said to her husband. "Gargoyle claws and Dragon claws. Can they not look the same?"

"We need one who knows Dragons and their ways," MacBeth mused.

Later, MacBeth told Demona of the news. She landed, and paced about the battlements as the Moon rose overhead. "Fools! If they cannot tell the work of a Gargoyle from a Dragon."

"Please, it is not their fault for their ignorance." MacBeth pleaded. "But none of us has seen a Dragon for generations."

"Hmm, pity them. But I tell you it is not a Gargoyle who would do this... for all the Gargoyles still alive in Scotland are known to me!" she hissed, eyes turning red. "I know... but I need your advice... how do I deal with a Dragon?"

"Why must you humans see fit to conquer and deal with those that may need to survive?" Demona asked him. "I swore to protect Scotland and all her inhabitants... if this Dragon is a threat."

"Does that only mean those citizens who are Human?"

"No... that is not what I meant," he sighed.

"I know you do not mean otherwise. But I must be ever wary of those that destroy my clan," she sighed. "What have you seen of Dragons?"

"There are many sorts. And they are most cleverer than most Humans," she muttered. "My kind has had many dealings with them. And not all are favorable. But be warned, they will stop at nothing to survive, as my clan would."

At the high castle, MacBeth sat fretful upon his throne. There had been more tales of attacks, and even the advice of those magicians he had sought had proved useless. He'd even visited the forests in the hope he could find those practices of the Goddess religion, for who better would know the ways of such creatures then they? But such kept their words from Christian men, lest their precious ways be forever taken from them. So he sat, watching the local Bards that had since come through, relating their tales of Song for a meal or a weeks lodging. Most of the minstrels had proved to know the same songs and tales he had known as a boy.

"I bid you greetings, most High King," came the newest voice. "I beg of your hospitality, for I bear tales from Eire, emerald isle... by way of Moray, and ask that I may entertain you this night."

"Do sit by the fire, and keep us in thrall," Gruoch asked, her breath drawing in sharply.

One musician seemed the same as another, save this newest that had come to take his turn at the hearth, a strange fellow that looked of the old Goddess Religion. He could glimpse the blue wode upon the wrists, that he himself had taken as a last vestige to the old ways, and the peculiar absence of cross or Christian symbol upon the man's person. Not unusual in itself, but the peculiar accent with which he uttered his song smacked of Eire. Many bards trained in that tradition had that lilt, and an almost spellbinding edge to their voice. Gruoch herself sat transfixed as those most blue eyes flashed with delight, holding her under what must be witchcraft.

"My wife, what ails you?" he asked, moving her elbow.

"What... pray forgive me Husband, but I was elsewhere... the music is captivating." A twinkle came within the eyes of the Bard, as he finished his song. A sigh of sadness came as he ceased.

"You, come here!" MacBeth said. "Good sir, I would ask you to come closer, and tell us more of your land."

"You do me much honor, most high King," the musical voice replied, with a slight laugh. Long raven hair fell about his shoulders as a black waterfall. He wore no beard, his face rounded with youth, inconsistent with the eyes that held so much wisdom. Indeed they seemed the slightest shade off from the blue he originally thought. Almost a green. The golden Torque about his neck had the heads of two dragons facing each other. Not unusual for a heathen... but when he glimpsed the symbol of the Dragon amongst the man's harp ornamentation.

"Your song, of Dragons.," he muttered. "Had me most interested since there has been no Dragon in Moray for centuries."

"Would that it was true?" the man asked, eyes winking. "For I have heard otherwise."

"Indeed," MacBeth said. "And it is obviously of interest to you."

"As it is of interest to you, good Sire."

"You see, there are not many that know of Dragons, save those who have won their spurs by their quest," MacBeth spoke. "And those of us are few and far between."

"And you wish for me... to perhaps help you, for you'd be having trouble."

"Aye for we don't know how many there are," MacBeth said calmly. "I'd be reminding you a lance isn't the only way to stop a Dragon," the Bard said coolly. "Be it so, but I am sworn to protect my people, those under my reign... and already one of my men has taken ill."

"Perhaps I may help him," the Bard said. "If I would be permitted to see him."

"If you can help him, perhaps... you would consider joining us other nights by the fire, good Musician. And there may even be a place for you if you can help us against this... Dragon."

"I would ask a boon of you sire, if I am to help."

"Name it."

"That no one is to quest this Dragon, till I have seen it myself... and that there be more told about them... for there may be a way to stop it without risking the lives of those men under your Oath."

"I say slay it!" came a voice, which MacBeth silenced with a raised hand.

"And risk your life? No wouldn't it be far better to find another way? There is more than one way to deal with a Dragon... if you know how... that would leave a wife with her brave husband there to bounce his children on his knee, and warm her bed with his presence."

"Well spoken," Gruoch muttered. MacBeth didn't fail to notice this. Nor the fact that every other maiden and matron in the hall had their eyes on the Bard as well.

* * *

September 1st 1999 MacBeth's Mansion in New York City:

Steel clanged on steel. Sweat poured and steamed up her glasses. Mary panted, as if for her very life. She spun about; both hands clutching the heavy long sword as she arched it over and met his blade from behind. "Guid!" came Lennox's voice. "But never break your attention, lass!"

Mary spun, slicing air as she inhaled another breath. Her eyes fixed firmly into those of Lennox MacDuff. Switching his sword to one hand, he eyed her thoughtfully, matching his pace to hers. Underfoot the glossy waxed floor squeaked as she set into a fencing pose. "No, this is no fencing!" he reminded her. "Dinnae think like that... this is real broadsword fighting... from the most ancient of days... look up! Keep yuir back straight... And keep yair opponent off balance..." His next arc swung, harshly beating against her weapon. Mary despaired as her sword sprung out of her bruised hand. She saw his next stroke, swinging close. Screaming in fear she threw up her foot, to kick his wrist. MacBeth grunted, backing away as Marianne ducked his next pass, and threw her into his midsection. Angrily she shoved him down, grabbing his sword arm with all her strength. A feral scream erupted from her throat, from far beneath her rational thought. "Easy lass!" MacBeth said, pushing her off him. "Lesson's over! Take a breath now..."

"I am sorry," she said. "But I hate... being defenseless..."

"Where did that come from?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "For a moment there it felt as if I was fighting a savage!"

"I don't know... something snapped in me..."

"No harm done," he said, brushing himself off as Mary picked up her sword from the floor. "Ye've a lot of anger and instinct. Ye got to channel it, lass. And it was grand that you kept fighting even though ye were disarmed. A true warrior does not let the lack of a weapon stop them. But ye need more skill. And then ye'll not need to resort to throwing your opponent down with brute strength."

Marianne saw the look of pride beaming bright in those blue eyes. And the thrill of adrenaline pounded in her veins. She felt so alive at that moment when she'd hit him down. That thrill filled her with shame and guilt. No, I'm supposed to hate fighting... why do I like it? What is happening to me?

"Why is there that look of doubt in yair eyes, lass?" he asked her, pulling off his fencing mask as he came to her side. "I only speak truth."

"I felt so alive that moment. But I abhor violence... what if it consumes me?"

"All the muir reason t' be properly trained. Ancient knights went through years of training from bairn to manhood. Ye canne expect t' be a true warrior in a few short weeks. Great fighters are forged like a sword, not shaped out of nothing like a magician's spell."

"I thank you, Lennox," she said softly, catching her breath. "But I still feel such confusion inside."

"Lass, you will be a good fighter. Lord knows ye have the heart and spirit of a warrior. I knew it when I first lay eyes on ye. Yer blood is that of the Hielanders, ma ain. The Stewart is the blood of kings... as is what flows in yair veins... and is nothing to be hidden away. Why else would have you been chosen to fight by Andrew himself?"

"But you wanted nothing but to destroy me," she said, looking at the floor. "And here I am taking lessons from you!"

"Twas Morgan of the Fairies that bewitched me before. You must trust me, lass. I have my ways about me, but I am a King of Scotland, and a King without Honor is not worthy to wear the Crown.. nor never was."

"I have to go," she said hastily, handing him back the sword as she carefully wiped it off. "No, keep it. Lest ye loose your fighting edge."

"I couldn't possibly... it must be one of your finest."

"A good blade. Take it. As a student."

Reluctantly she took the weapon as he sheathed it in its scabbard. There was no magic. It was just an ordinary sword, albeit a relic from Lord only knows how many centuries ago. And rushed quickly out of Lennox' apartment as she felt the electricity pass from his hand to hers.

* * *

September 7th, 1999, Central Park West;

Marianne arrived back at her apartment late. Blood flushed her face as she fumbled with her keys, promptly dropping them. "Confound it!" she cursed, as she felt the sword thump in its casing too. Heart pounding she kicked open the door. Had to get in. had to look busy? She slipped the sword under the couch, and sat upon it, breathing heavily. What was going on? He was he instructor! But why would he give her a sword? All these doubts and confusions flustered her all the more. When the doorbell rang she jumped two feet out of the chair. She opened the door, to see Chas there, a smile upon his face. It was too much, as she felt a bit dizzy. The smile melted into a look of concern as the fresh bouquet he carried was forgotten, and his slender hands gripped her. "Mary, whatever is the matter?" he asked her. Soothing warmth filled her arms as his healing energies moved into her body. He guided her to the sofa and sat her down.

"Nothing," she breathed heavily. And felt quite ill.

"Mary, have you forgotten t' eat lunch again?"

"Yes, that's it... I must have forgotten to eat."

"Yer all breathless... where were you?"

"Having a bit of a workout," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead. "I had forgotten you were coming over, or I would have been here sooner."

"No harm done," he grinned. For a moment she settled down. Till his sharp eye noticed something poking out from under the couch. Mary kicked it back with her heel as she grabbed the bouquet from his hands.

"These... are lovely... you didn't have to."

"I insist," he smiled, kissing her hand. And took both of her hands in his. "I've news."

"So have I."

"You first," he said.

"I've been offered a chance... to do some traveling... for a unique trip... to England..." she breathed. "Oh..." he said. "And when... would this be?"

"In a week or so. As you know I am not an American Citizen, and I must renew my work Visa. So the MOMA is sending me over to handle an art restoration project they are handling with the British museum. For a whole month. I could be there longer, but that bit's tentative. They need someone familiar with the English preservationists."

"That's wonderful," Chas says, gripping her hands. "And I... have news as well, and some important questions to ask you..." His foot brushed against something, and he looked down. A strap protruded from under the couch.

Hastily Mary pushed it back with her heel, in desperation. His eyes questioned as he glanced down. "What's wrong... what is that... it looks like a camera case strap or a gym bag."

"Er, it's nothing, something I'm keeping for a friend," she hastily said, and her face flushed. But those blue eyes clouded over, and she felt the blood in her face.

"Mary... what is that?" he asked, and he pulled the strap as he extracted a casing for a weapon. Instead of the gym bag he'd expected.

"I..." she stammered.

Chas quickly undid the lacing of the package before she could stop him. For how could she hide it from him, who was a blacksmith, and who had make weapons? And he whom could tell a blade's condition on sight would certainly tell a wrapped sword with the same ease. He held up the scabbard, his fingers tracing over it. "This... is a fine blade indeed... but why?"

"I needed to practice," she said, face hot as she stammered out an explanation. "And. I didn't want to use Wavedancer for a mere sparring."

"Of course not Mary, but why didn't you ask me? I would have given ye a blade easily fr t' practice. Wait... where did you get this?"

"It's a loan," she said, not sure of how much to tell him. He drew the blade, and ran his finger over the edge. Picking up the sword he balanced it in his hand, testing the weight, and reversed the pommel as he stared down its length.

"This... alloy isn't modern... yet it's steel... but forged by human hand... and the grain is..."

His eyes grew gray as his jaw clenched. Slowly he sheathed the blade in its scabbard again. Mary winced at his angry stare. Like a volcano waiting to erupt, there was dead silence, and calmness in his frame that scared her.

"There is only one place you could this sword." he said, voice low. Ice laced each syllable. "Tell me the truth Mary, all of it."

Not able to look him in the eyes, she took the weapon from him. "He offered to teach me," she stammered. "And you... I need to be the best... I can... for my mission."

"Don't you know what this man is capable of?" Chas' voice said, in that low quiet tone that stabbed into her even worse then it would if he had yelled.

"It's not what you think," Mary said, seeing the accusation in his eyes. "Nothing happened."

"Mary, he's a betrayer!" Chas voice rose, the fire present. His raised voice made her flinch.

"I need to learn!" Mary shouted back. "There is only so much you can teach me! And when you aren't here... and enemies may strike at any time!"

"He's an old enemy of mine!"

"I know, but you worked together to help rescue Arthur and me! Can't you put aside your feud for the greater good? Besides, the Gargoyles have said MacBeth has changed... and had spoken in their defense!"

"He can't be trusted!"

"Why are so angry at him?"

"He slew one to whom I had given trust!" Chas cried. "And I cannot believe you would ask him of all people as a teacher!"

"I must be able to effectively fight! Can't you put your differences behind you! He saved our lives, and proved himself to the Gargoyles! He is an ally of King Arthur!" Mary protested, looking him straight in those eyes, which were crimson by now.

"It's not yer business to worry about that!" he suddenly snapped. "I forbid ye to see him!"

"Excuse me?" she asked, her voice cold. "He's corrupted your mind! Using you to get to me! Don't ye see it?"

"I cannot believe you'd say that!"

"It's not beyond him to try! He's using you Mary! He wants you for himself, and I'll not let him take you from me!"

"Don't you trust me to make my own decisions!"

"It's not you I mistrust! It's him!"

"Then fine!" Mary spits. "Who are you to judge what is right and wrong for me?"

"I am the man y' love!" he retorted, the orange glare like fire in his gaze. "And I don't want t' see ye get hurt! Curse it! Y' have another responsibility to yourself, and to me!" he exploded, grabbing both her shoulders and shaking her. For a moment it looked as if he'd hit her. But she knew he would no stoop so low.

"You owe it to me to remain true to both!" he shouted.

"Get your hands off me, or so help me," she cried, pushing away. Anger boiled up, hot and wicked. How dare he, this presumptuous self-righteous prig! To presume ownership of her life, her destiny! "How dare you presume such a thing!" she cried. "Who are you... that says this! To think I am cheating on you.. You jealous..."

"I only want to protect you! And keep you from being corrupted by those that would seek to turn you to darkness! Even if blasted George himself is leading you to it!"

"I have a responsibility, to him! To be the best I can, and do what he asks!"

"Can ye not have the freedom to decide fer yerself if it's worth becoming his slave? What if he asks you to do something you know is wrong? Then what will ye tell yer precious Saint then?"

Chas fell silent. While she felt the next angry words flow before she could stop them, "You're not my father, my brother, or my husband! What gives you the right to tell me how I should live my life?"

Her words hit him sharply, for his angry face evaporated into shock. The eyes became a deep shade of blue, holding sadness and more hurt than she could imagine. Angry tears moistened them, as they regarded her. Mary felt a piece of her die in that instant. And a barrier closed off her surge of feelings in the next. Separation came in the eyes, as if she could no longer reach him. "If that's the way it is, is it?" he said quietly. The crestfallen look stabbed at her heart. His eyes became deep indigo as he turned away from her. Stooped over he left the room in icy silence.

"I suppose it is," she returned, voice low and flat.

"Then so be it," he replied, voice dead. Hot anger flared in Mary as she slammed the door behind him. "How dare he!" she cried. "How dare he!" Again and again she screamed these words, like a mantra. Till her sounds came into the empty apartment with no answer. Sobbing she buried her face into the sofa, banging the floor with her fist.

* * *

Scotland 1035AD, the forests of Moray:

"Stand back, men!" MacBeth shouted to his retainers. Again the Dragon reared, spewing its green gas upon them. Coughing and choking they fell back. Slowly it moved, to cover the entrance to the cave.

"Back you beastie!" shouted Constantine. "IN the name of God get back!"

Roaring the Dragon swiped, as Constantine moved forwards. A strange urge seized him, as he held his lance, the reigns of his weapon in one hand. The lance point danced, as the Dragon's eyes followed the bright skewer.

"Fall back you fool!" MacBeth shouted. Suddenly everything happened at once. For Constantine's lance moved, stabbing into the beast's flank as his horse reared. There came an angry bellow as the Dragon reared, green gas belching into the man's face. Constantine's horse whinnied, falling over as the gas stunned him.

"No!" MacBeth shouted. "Get out of there ye idjit!"

There came a swat of claws that easily brushed the young Knight aside. And he sailed into the bushes. Angrily the Dragon flapped its wings, a mighty wind slashing against the party. Their horses reared, sending the men back in fear. Galloping they vanished, stopping only to pick up the wounded and fallen.

"That spawn of hell!" cried one of the men.

"You fools, it's going to get us now!" shouted Bodhe.

"Fall back!" There came a loud roar from overhead, as they saw a jade and emerald shape pass over the sun. A loud blast of fire singed trees ahead, cutting off their retreat as they hastened.

"Fly! Fly!" MacBeth screamed. Only when they reached the gates of Moray did they stop. Constantine had lost much blood as MacBeth urged everyone in.

"Drop the portcullis... it's a Dragon attack!" The Dragon whirled, slashing with its tail as it circled. There came a hiss and whoosh of flame that narrowly missed. And then winging and dipping, it flew quickly away. "Don't come back, monster!" MacBeth shook his fist at it.

* * *

October 2nd, 1999, Indoor Pistol Range in NYC:

"You can't go on like this," Elisa Maza told Marianne as she took aim at the paper square, 15 yards distant. Mary gritted her teeth as she pulled the trigger of her 0.22 beretta. With a flash and a pop the little bullet slammed it's way into the target downrange. Shot after shot she placed, till the magazine was spent. Elisa took her place after Mary, clicked off the safety of her 0.38. And aimed with all precision. Behind her plastic safety glasses her eyes narrowed. And unloaded the whole magazine in seconds.

"Your turn."

Marianne selected her revolver, a 38 smith and Wesson, a reproduction that she carefully kept in her safe when company was over. Taking a deep breath, she aimed carefully.

"I called his apartment, but there was no answer... and I even called his sister. She said she had no idea where he was."

"That's not good," Elisa said.

"I feel totally rotten," Marianne sighed, firing another round. One bullet spanged off the floor. Putting down the empty gun, Marianne felt her jaw clench. "I just can't think."

"Mary, look. I'm your friend. And from what you told me, he was foolish to assume he could tell you what to do. When you'd made your mind up. But did you stop to think how much it hurt him that you went to MacBeth in the first place?"

"I know it did! But MacBeth told me himself that this had nothing to do with... oh the blazes with it. I'll never see him again. And it's all my stupid pigheadedness," Her face crumpled yet again. And she turned her back to Elisa, tears dripping down her cheeks. Lately she seemed to do nothing but cry.

Elisa took her friend in her arms and hugged her close. "Now look, you have to get on with your life," she said. "I know this hurts. But you have a career, and a very special destiny. A responsibility. Maybe he's not willing to be part of it... but you sound like you were only acting in duty. Being a cop, I know it's hard to choose..."

"Elisa, I've lost him."

"If he really loves you, you'll find him again. Lord knows you love him, or you wouldn't be this miserable. Jalapeno, I've had my troubles with my own relationships. I've doubted him many times. But always our bond triumphs. And yours will too, if you're meant to be."

"But what do I do?"

"As I said before. Get on with living. Don't let this stop you. That's the last thing he'd want. Give him some time... and he'll come back if he really loves you."

"Or if I go after him," Marianne said resolutely. "What do you mean?"

"I... think I have an idea where he might have gone. But there's no way of..."

"Oh no, are you thinking?"

"Perhaps... but I leave for England tomorrow... for a stint at the British Museum... and while I'm traveling... I could take a week or two of holiday to go home... see Mum and Da."

"That might be what you need. But take care."

"Elisa, haven't your friends heard anything about him?"

"Nope. None of my PI friends have seen anything. But don't worry. You'll be the first to know if we do."

"I appreciate this."

"Hey. And I'll ask our friends if they've seen anything."

"I'll ask them myself," Marianne smiled.

* * *

Scotland 1035AD Castle Moray:

"You fools, don't ye naff idjits know what ye've done?" Cassidy shouted as they limped in. Constantine wheezed and choked, gasping as blood dripped from a chest wound. "You speak course indeed, Eire one!" snapped the Steward. "Can ye help him?"

"Bloody fool," MacBeth snapped. "He just had to take the beast on himself!"

"What?" Cassidy exploded. "Why did you provoke it?"

"It was attacking a farming field, and we hastened to stop it!" MacBeth shouted. "Ever closer it comes to Moray... why we trapped it before the cave."

"Trapped it?" Cassidy questioned, raising a dark eyebrow. Slowly he examined Constantine, pulling off the armor to look at the wound. Expertly he applied a mixture of herbs and poultice, stanching the bleeding to a halt. Taking a strange dust he breathed it into the man's gasping mouth. Constantine stopped heaving, and turned on his side, hurling into a basin.

"He'll be all right. No thanks to his foolishness," Cassidy finally said to the waiting group.

"Why are you so sharp, Cassidy?" MacBeth asked him. "One of my men was wounded."

"Because ye provoked it!" Cassidy countered. "I warned ye... that dragon is a mother... protecting its nest... which was most likely in that cave!"

"Its lair?" MacBeth asked.

"Yes."

"On Moray, a dragon's clutch?"

"You must give me time... I can stop it... but it will take time... please I beg of you... if you want your men to live you must,"Cassidy pleaded with them.

"All right. One more day. But if it kills another subject, so help me, I won't hesitate to stop it!" MacBeth hissed, turning as he left Constantine to revive in the Bard's care.

"Bloody fools," Cassidy muttered. More vigorously then necessary he slapped the herb-laden sponges to the fallen knight's chest.

* * *

October 7th, 1999 8pm Marianne's Apartment:

Marianne was just putting another carefully folded shirt into her suitcase when she heard a soft tapping at her glass. Turning, she moved to the night darkened window. Two white eyes blazed behind the panel, after she raised the blind. There came another soft scratching. Marianne swung open the deadbolt, sighing with relief, "You scared the life out of me for a moment... the pair of you..."

"Sorry, we just thought we'd stop by..." said Brooklyn.

"Yeah, we were in the neighborhood..."added Lexington.

"Come in, it's a bit chilly," Marianne said, swinging open the door.

Brooklyn and Lexington moved into the warmly lit space. "Heard you were leaving," Brooklyn muttered, as his sharp eyes took in the suitcases and trunks.

"First thing tomorrow," she sighed.

"England, huh?" the slender red gargoyle said as Lexington closed the window behind them.

"I... need to sort some things out... and the museum is sending me..."

"Sounds cool," Lexington piped in. "What exactly will you be doing there?"

"Restoration work," she said, sitting down on her easy chair. Lexington perched on the arm of the sofa, Brooklyn upon her hassock. His thin arms folded across his knees in a classic gargoyle pose. "Also, there are some personal things I thought I'd sort out over there... I might not be back for a while..."

"Visit your parents?" Brooklyn asked. "Yes... I... just need to get away... there's just too much..."

"Hey, we get it," Brooklyn said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Just don't forget about us, okay?"

"How could I forget about you chaps," she sniffed. "You've been wonderful friends."

"Come's with the protecting part," Brooklyn said.

"I don't suppose, anyone's heard anything," she murmured.

"Uh nope," Lexington said. "Matt's buddies didn't show up anything yet. And we haven't' heard from Angela. She, Broadway, and Hudson were going to Avalon to visit Princess Kathryn and Tom."

"Lucky people," Brooklyn muttered.

"Fifteen rookery sisters," Lexington sighed. "Anyway they said they'd ask if he's been seen there."

"Good of them," Marianne murmured, as she started to get up.

But Brooklyn was already on his way to the kitchen ahead of her. "Coffee?"

"A bit late for that," she sighed, hugging her knees much like Brooklyn had done. "Sometimes being in love is the worst experience anyone can go through."

"You're not kidding," Brooklyn said, as he came back with a bag of chips and some dip. "Especially when the one you love... is with somebody else."

"Angela, huh?" she asked. "Angela,"

Lexington nodded. "And we're stuck with Xanatos at the castle with reruns."

"Hope I'm not boring you guys," she laughed.

Brooklyn well knew the downcast look in those pretty eyes, even though Marianne was trying bravely to hide it. It mirrored his own, when he walked in on Broadway and Angela that one night in the library. "Parting is such sweet sorrow," he muttered again. Indeed the room had gone silent, for Lexington suddenly pulled on his arm. Marianne hunched her knees into her chest much as they once remembered Tom doing years ago. So like a small child she seemed, ironic considering she was older then their friend Elisa perhaps.

Brooklyn perched on her chair arm, laying a claw upon her shoulders, "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah... are you all right? You kinda zoned out there for a moment," Lexington added, perching at her feet. How odd it seemed for these ancient creatures to speak in American slang.

"I'm terribly sorry," Marianne drew in her breath, feeling the waves of despair wash over her once more. "I was just thinking about how he... used to make me dinner each night I was here... and... how much I miss... oh damn."

Once again she faught to keep back the tears, but failed miserably. Brooklyn gripped her shoulders gently in his talons as she pulled off her glasses. Lexington busied himself in a hunt for the tissues nearby. "Hey, Mary," Brooklyn murmured. "It's okay... nothin to apologize over.. really."

She chuckled through her tears at the sight of Lexington helpfully holding up the box of facial tissues to her. "Did Elisa put you up to this?" she sighed, dabbing her eyes.

"Uh, yeah," Brooklyn said, and slipped a firmly muscled arm around her shoulders. He was glad she didn't flinch at his touch. Marianne let him give her a reassuring hug as the red wings wrapped around her. There was nothing alterior in the embrace, merley a friend trying their best to comfort another.

Lexington placed a claw over her other hand as she continued to cry. Her sobs were shared in their miserable faces. Neither gargoyle felt much like hot chocolate now. But Brooklyn tossed his head towards the kitchen, and it was the smaller gargoyle that padded off to bring back several mugs and a tray.

"Help us help you," Brooklyn said, drawing back from her for a moment.

"Pardon?"

"Heard that from a movie."

"Jerry Maguire," she laughed softly. Tissues dabbed away the tears.

"My protectors," she shook her head as Brooklyn offered her a mug of tea.

"Hey, it's in the blood," Brooklyn said. "And there are all kinds of protecting too."

"Including cheering up damsels in distress?" she asked him. They shared her laugh.

"Elisa's your friend, and so are we," Lexington said. "And hey, you're kinda far away from your own clan... so..."

"It's ironic, that the most helpful people... are gargoyles," she laughed again, dabbing both eyes this time.

"I've had well a crush on someone. I know it's not the same, but hey, heartbreak and all."

"Heartbreak," she shook her head.

"He's still out there," Brooklyn said. "And maybe if..."

"Maybe if," she hoped, looking out at the rain battering the window. Wondering if he was looking at the same moon that slowly drifted behind the dark clouds. And missing her as much as she missed him.

She lifted her tearstained face to peer at both sets of bright eyes in the dim of night. Three lonely beings sharing the silence together, their eyes saying the rest of what was to come. Somehow the pain seemed bearable, even if the ache in her chest did not diminish. Past Brooklyn's cascade of white hair she looked to the moon dancing behind the stormclouds. Its silvery beams suddenly flooded the room in pale painted hues.

"Chas, wherever you are I will find you…" she murmured. "But only on your terms… and in your time

"There's always another sample for you to test," Lexington said, holding up his mug of hot chocolate. "You wouldn't want to let the museum down would you?"

"Hmm, that's the only thing that doesn't change with an argument," Brooklyn laughed. "There's always a job to do. Us, protecting this burg, and you… whatever it is that Saint wants you to do. Wish I was going to England. It would be neat to check out the London Clan."

"Yeah, I hear Una and Leo have some cousins about our age," Lexington laughed. Then he saw Brooklyn's brooding look, and stopped.

"Hey, send us a postcard, and if you run into King Arthur," Brooklyn said, as both of them moved within arm's length of her. "Let him know what's been going down here!"

"King Arthur…" she muttered. "Yes… I will."

A sudden faraway look came into the tear-swollen eyes. Lexington and Brooklyn exchange questioning glances. "What's up?" Lexington asked her.

"Oh… nothing," Marianne murmured. "Just suddenly realized another person who might well depend upon us… and may well be able to help."

"Him… how?" Brooklyn asked.

"Because he might have been to Avalon before Angela would get there?" Lexington supplied his wide eyes even more wide as he guessed. She nodded vigorously.

"And if anyone knows where he might be, perhaps those of Avalon might, and if I meet up with Arthur… there may still be hope of finding Chas."

"But what about your trip?"

"It's still on and if I know Arthur, he's most likely traipsing there this very time in his search for Merlin! The last time we parted he said something about the Midlands… and who knows?"

"The Midlands?" Brooklyn's eyebrow-ridge rose.

"Near the town of Raveloe, where my museum is sending me, there are old caves. One was reputed to have a connection to Merlin the wizard… one of his secret magical caches. My friend Lydia Duane had excavated something from that town…"

"You mean the gal who found the scrolls of Merlin?" asked Brooklyn. "You know her?"

"My mother had her as student when she was at University. You see, my mother is quite an expert on King Arthur… and Lydia's lifelong fascination with Arthurian legends. Well we knew each other through my mother, for they kept up correspondence."

"How does that connect with you?" Lexington asked. "Why are you going there?"

"Similar ruins have been found near the old town church. And the name of Merlin was translated there. So if anywhere Arthur might be, is the very place I am going!"

"Sweet!" Brooklyn grinned. "But how does that help you find Chas?"

"Arthur said that he passes through Avalon each time, in the hopes it will send him where he needs to be, on his quest for Merlin. It seems the most logical place for it has been in the news."


	3. The Dragon's Cave

_Disclaimer: The Characters of Gargoyles are property of Disney. Marianne Ellis is property of me, Trynia Merin, as are the characters of the town of Raveloe. Chas Quin Cassidy and related magical items like Wavedancer are property of Beth Strong a.k.a. Javagoddess, which I use with her permission. I want to thank her for her help in developing the ideas in this story. It is not intended to harm Gargoyles in any way._

**To Slay or Not to Slay the Dragon **

Written 12/12/99 by Trynia Merin/Janeth Rhian

* * *

**_Part 3: Secret of the Dragon's Cave_**

Scotland, 11th century, Castle Moray:

Slowly Macbeth looked to the rising sun, and sighed. Demona landed on her perch, facing him. "You were foolish indeed with that stunt, letting loose a dragon upon you. It will stop at nothing to defend its young."

"True, but what can I do? If those eggs hatch..."

"And what would you, a human do? Destroy them?"

"A hundred little dragons to contend with? I am King and I swore to protect my people! If I let this Dragon live, it may well kill anyone within a hundred leagues of the cave! I cannot watch every person who comes within that territory! Dozens of farmers live in that place!"

"And you would let a few lowly peasants stop you from preventing a greater danger?" Demona asked.

"Yes for they are my people!"

"Be very careful, Macbeth. For you may see it as a lesser of two human evils, but you may well regret what you are about to do. For I know what a human would do... and you are unlike most of your kind... but I fear you will not think beyond."

She hardened into stone as she continued her speech. "Bah," Macbeth muttered. "Useless prattle."

Screams and shouts came from the men, a cry of alarm. Suddenly the Dragon flew at them, head on. Greenish mist spewed at the fields, raining as people choked. "Bloody hell!" Macbeth shouted.

"Archers!" he cried. "Attack!"

A thousand arrows flew, knocked by welsh bowmen. The Dragon blazed them aside with ease, its rain of fire bright against the growing sun. Macbeth shouted to his men, as the women and children hastened within, and many of the local serfs rushed into the courtyard for cover. Moray quickly closed itself off as many fell to the choking mist.

"Catapults, ready!" the Steward shouted, as large stones were loaded. At the drop of Macbeth's sword they flew. But with consummate skill the Dragon wove among them.

"Get a band of my best knights, and lead it away!" Macbeth shouted. "Hurry! My armor! My sword... my steed! And get that bloody Bard up here!"

"Yes sire!" shouted his squire.

Soon Macbeth and a small band rode out, the catapults and arrows having kept the circling Dragon at bay. Another pass and its eyes fixed upon the small pillar of armed men rushing outwards. Still the arrows flew, the Dragon's wing perforated with tiny holes as it lost altitude. It crashed towards the edge of the forest, dragging its membranous scarlet wing. The first warrior, Constantine, rode up, charging.

"Ware... it could be shamming!" another warned. Then the claws were out, swiping as Constantine's horse reared. And swatted it out from under the Knight. Two others rode up, lances raised as they held their reigns. Green mist seeped around them, but as one fell the other's lance struck home.

A loud scream, unearthly, pierced their ears. Macbeth could swear it sounded like a woman screaming. Another rush as the knight's horse bolted and his lance shattered. He grabbed his fallen friend, and struggled to leave. Only to be swatted aside with a swipe of the tail as the Dragon turned.

Macbeth shouted, waving his own sword as he moved his horse forwards. Anger filled his veins, ringing with the Scottish blood of heated battle. His sword swiped as he maneuvered his horse around the slashing claws and hissing mist. Clamping a wet cloth over his face, he screened out the mist, holding his breath. A quick slash and there came a bellow. Bluish ichor dripped his cape.

Following his example, the others fell upon the Dragon. Lances drew its blood as the female bellowed in pain.

On a black horse he road, the Bard bursting out of the bushes. "No!" he screamed. "Stop!"

But the frenzy had seized them, their Scottish blood boiling with the thrill of battle. Repeatedly they pierced and lunged, blood streaming out of the female as it feebly swatted them away.

"Murderers!" Cassidy shouted. "Stop!"

But it was far too late. For the blood stained the grass, the feuding men, and the horses' flanks. Blue life force that leaked away with its last heaving gasps on its side. "Oh Goddess no!" Cassidy screamed, as he moved into the mass of men.

"Fall back!" Macbeth cried, coming to his senses. Two of his men grabbed the Bard, as he fought against them with surprising strength.

"What is wrong, you fool?" Macbeth hissed, as the Bard fought free, and raced to the Dragon's side.

"I'm sorry... so sorry," Cassidy wept, as his hands touched the flank of the fallen beast.

Everyone stood sober, the heat of battle gone with the Dragon's ebbing life. The one green eye glanced at Cassidy, a low moaning from its throat. Cassidy began to sing softly, gripping its head as it looked at him.

"What sorcery is this?" asked the Steward.

"Leave him with that beast."

"You don't understand. I could have stopped it!" Cassidy shouted to them. "I was preparing a song... to make it slumber! For a hundred years!"

"Too late for that now," Macbeth said, moving towards him.

"I asked you to wait!" Cassidy cried, moving towards him. The Dragon's eye was fast shut, as it breathed its last.

"There was no time! It was attacking Moray!" Macbeth shouted back. "My people would have died!"

"You broke your vow! Betrayed me!" Cassidy snapped back. "I told you not to move against it! And you have slain a beast that was mother."

"I am a King! I am the law! I swore to protect my subjects, and that comes before all!"

"What use is a king who breaks his word," Cassidy hissed, eyes bright crimson.

"Look at his face! He's not human!" cried one of the men.

"Sorcery!" cried Constantine, dropping and making the sign of the cross. "Burn him!"

"Silence!" Macbeth shouted. "None may speak to me that plainly."

"He's a heathen fool, what did you expect?" came the Steward's words. "Leave the pagan with his pet monster!"

Shouts of affirmation came from the band, as they moved to Cassidy. Macbeth held them back with a raised hand. "No, none will lay a hand on him. You, Cassidy, swore your aid. And you failed to stop it with your spells and potions. I did what I had to as King. It is not for you to question me!"

"Then you are less of a man then I thought," Cassidy spat at his feet.

"Treacherous Irelander!" shouted another, grabbing mud and hurling up upon him. Brown globules splattered the blue wool of his bard robes.

Macbeth's eyes narrowed as Cassidy's eyes glowed with an unearthly fire. "You poor ignorant fools," Cassidy shook his head.

"He would steal our women! He has the look of the Fair Folk!" said another, brandishing a piece of iron at Cassidy, who promptly backed away.

"Leave now and I will forget that remark, pagan," Macbeth hissed. "But show your face here in my kingdom again at your peril."

"I would rather never return while you are king," Cassidy muttered under his breath as he wiped away the mud. Glaring at the knights, he made a last gesture towards the Dragon. Suddenly there came a noise as if a rushing fire. Suddenly the Dragon burst into flames, sending the horses wild. By the time they turned to seize him, he was nowhere to be found.

Macbeth felt anger burn inside him. This barbarian pagan had embarrassed him before his men. That was a sin punishable by torture. Added insult was the way in which even the wives were bewitched with him. Perhaps he was one of the Fair Folk, in human guise. Yet it mattered not. He would not trust such heathen sorcery again. And what other beings could turn upon him? The gargoyles next? If the Fair Folk indeed were a threat, then perhaps Demona would turn against him and Scotland.

The thought unsettled him as he rounded up his men and returned to Moray. There was no trophy for this hunt, only a worried Gruoch who begged to know what happened. Why the Bard had suddenly and unceremoniously left.

* * *

Raveloe, Midlands, England 1999:

"Give me back Griffy!" Lucy shouted as she rushed after her brother.

"Only if you give me back my Gameboy!" he shouted back, holding a plush griffin with rainbow wings aloft. She leapt on one foot trying to grab it.

"You're mean!" she whined, clutching the toy in question behind her back as he stopped. Both children blundered right into the back wall of the church.

"That's enough, you two!" a blonde woman sighed as she pulled them apart. "Outside with you now."

"But she started it!" Tim snapped.

"He stole my Griffy!" Lucy pouted.

"Enough, I don't care who started it, but I'm finishing it. Lucy, give me the Gameboy now. And you give me the toy."

"Mum!" Tim snapped.

"I mean it now!" Anne lowered her voice, holding out her hand. He forked it over, and she handed it back to her daughter. Then surrendered the Gameboy to Tim. He immediately stuck his tongue out at his sister.

"Mum he's being mean!"

"Enough you two! I need to work! Take it outside, this minute."

"All right," Tim sulked. "But I'm not letting her play it!"

"That's not fair!" Lucy stamped her foot. "I gave you that for Christmas."

"What's not fair?" Anne asked. "It's his toy. Find something else to play."

"But I wanna play! I wanna play it really badly!" she howled.

Anne pulled both children out by their hands, shushing them. "Look the pair of you! This is hardly the place for you two to act out. Mommy needs to work, and I don't want you brawling about the place. Now work it out between you this minute."

"I hate you," Lucy snapped at her brother.

"Fine, you feel that way right now." Anne said. "But that's not good enough. Apologize this minute. I don't have time for this. Give me the toy. You'll have it back after tea."

"No fair!" he shouted.

"Life isn't fair. Look, why don't you go playing explorer?" she asked. "You always love that. In fact Mr. Morewood-Smythe needs a good helper to take him his tea. In fact, if you apologize, you just might enjoy the trip. He and Auntie Lydia might even let you dig for artifacts!" He stopped for a moment, sulking as he stuffed his hands into his pocket. "It's either that or go home and look after your sister."

"Can I help can I?" Lucy asked.

"I don't know. Can you apologize to your brother?"

"I don't know," she said, putting her finger in her mouth. Just then Lydia Duane pulled up in her Land Rover. She pulled to a stop as she noticed the interesting situation before the Church. Climbing out, she advanced upon her friend. It was difficult for her sister with two children, raising them by herself. Lydia helped out when she could, and this was a crisis indeed as she could tell from the sulking scowl on her nephew's face.

"Natives are restless?" she asked them. "Auntie can we help you at the dig?" Lucy asked, as she rushed to her aunt's side. Lydia grinned as she leaned over her niece and gave her a big hug.

"I don't know. Shouldn't you ask your mum first?"

"Timmy I'm sorry I took your Gameboy," she chirped. Tim grumbled in return.

"My, my aren't we a Mr. Grumpy," Lydia said to Tim. "Don't you want to hear about what we found, in Dragon's Grotto?"

"Some crummy old junk," Tim muttered, turning around. "Big deal."

"Tim!" Anne wailed. "Don't be rude!"

"Let me tell your sister what we found in Merlin's cave," Lydia dropped her voice to a whisper as she leaned over her niece. Lucy's eyes grew wide as she heard what seemed some great secret. Tim moved over, pretending not to notice.

"Let's go!" Lucy laughed as she slipped her hand into Lydia's.

"Be back for tea," Anne said, as she breathed a silent thanks to Lydia. For a moment she disappeared into the church.

"Who cares about some moldy artifacts anyway," Tim kicked a rock with his sneakered toe.

"I was forgetting one small detail," Lydia turned around. "Arthur needs a strong helper to clear away the gravel. I wonder who I can find to help?" She pretended to look back and forth as she helped Lucy into a booster seat in her Land Rover.

"All right I'll go," Tim sulked. "But I'm not looking for any stuff."

"That's a great sport, Timmy," Lydia nodded. Anne handed her sister a small cooler as she reemerged from the church. Lydia shared a wink as she noticed Tim climbing into the front seat.

"Thanks ever so much Sis," Anne shook her head. "They had half a day today, and I've been at my wits end at what to do with them!"

"I'll look after then for a while, at the site."

"But there was a set of artifacts we just unearthed during the renovation that we thought you could examine…" Anne whispered.

"Arthur will be more then happy to take them for the afternoon, once they've had lunch. I'll nip back here soon as I've taken them up. Then we'll have us a look at your artifacts Sis."

"How quaint," the fellow muttered, amusement curling his lips. From behind the slick plastic polymer windows he surveyed the small town. A church steeple protruded from behind the gentle green hills.

"Yet how utterly boring," he added, turning to his mica topped desk. "Oh so unaware of the possibilities."

"Oh yeah," smirked the voice from across his desk. Two figures, brother and sister, sat swathed in their trench coats. As the young woman lifted her leg, the scientist caught a glimpse of gold from her boot. Her Brother leaned out of the muted shadows, relaxing in the padded chairs.

"Now I must remind you two, I pay half up front, and half later after results."

"Yeah, it's all in the contract," his sister said impatiently, her voice cutting in like an alto pair of sheers. "So what is it we have to do anyway?"

"A little hunting expedition. If the stories I have heard from this town are true then it may be the most significant discovery in even my stunning career,"

Brother and sister looked at each other, as if to say, "Give me a break."

Brother lifted the corner of his lips at sister, as if to answer, "Wait, this might be the break we need."

"I assure you, this might be the start of a more permanent career for you two. If you do well."

"Are ya saying our ref's ain't valid?"

"After what I heard about in the Rainforest, for Reynard and company... let's just say you weren't the first I'd call... but I was rather strapped for resources."

"Hey have we got a deal or not?" the young man asked, pushing up from his chair. Those two long sideburns hung down over the neat desk.

"Careful, I just had this place fumigated," the Director said. "Let's call it a deal for now. I expect results."

"You'll get em, right sister?"

"Right. Let's go out and do it!"

"Good help is soo hard to find," Dr. Sevarious shook his head as his two newest employees left.

* * *

Dragon's Grotto, East of Raveloe:

In the middle of a glen, Arthur Morewood-Smythe and Lydia Duane had set up their latest field study. Not far from where they had discovered Merlin's Scrolls, they continued their excavation of Dragon's Grotto. Merlin's scrolls had been the tip of the proverbial iceberg, for now Lydia had secured permission from the town council to continue her excavations. It seemed pure coincidence that her sister had discovered strange runic stones in the basement of St. George's church, indicating another system of burial chambers in what was called Dragon's Grotto. Only a few hundred feet from Merlin's chamber as well!

Yet they were working against time. For even now a chemical company wished to purchase land near the dig site. And she and Arthur had only a week left to unearth substantial archaeological evidence to prove that this was a historic site, and must not be disturbed.

"So how are my little archaeologists doing?" Arthur Morewood-Smythe asked his two youngest volunteers. He leaned around Lucy, who was sifting dirt through what looked like a sieve.

"No treasure yet," she reported.

"Keep looking. There just might be something soon," Arthur smiled. He turned to Tim, who crouched, in the square pit. The lad was scraping with a masonry trowel with a grim look upon his face.

"Nothing yet," he grumbled. "Stupid waste of time."

"May be," Arthur said with a slight twinkle in his eyes. "But it helps to work out the arms..."

"Really?" Tim lifted an eyebrow. Arthur rolled up his khaki sleeve, showing well-muscled arms. "After a whole summer in Egypt I was the best arm wrestler in the camp!"

"No way," Tim muttered his sulk beginning to crack a bit. "Already this morning we found the Briton's teeth. I'll be blasted if there isn't an axe to be found yet."

"Really?" Tim muttered, and began to dig with renewed vigor.

"That's the spirit lad," Arthur grinned, dropping to his haunches as he cleared aside dirt with a toothbrush in another section. "If you land on anything hard, just sing out. Lucy, you keep searching through the dirt. Leave no section unturned."

* * *

Town Square, Raveloe:

She had spent only a day in the small town, miles from any major city. Tucking away into the countryside, Raveloe's town square was boarded by a small pub, the Lance and Dragon and the local church, St. George's. There were a few cottages with their thatched roofs left strewn here and there. Marianne could almost think herself transported to the sixteenth century, if not for the few modern cars parked in driveways here and there.

Anne Duane-Pricefield had said something about Celtic artifacts found in the church's basement. Artifacts that required the skilled eye of her sister Lydia to decipher. The fact that they were also dealing with a twelfth century tapestry of St. George required Marianne's expertise in dealing with ancient textile conservation. Hence the trip here.

Slowly she walked along the paved road, towards the church. Gently the wind breathed through the small trees lining the path, their blossom heavy branches arching overhead. Small flowers peeked from beside ancient gravestones. Into the sky rose the church's belltower, a two story box shape all in slate gray chunks cemented together. Strange, she thought, as she entered the open red door, that statue of that griffin didn't seem to be there yesterday. He crouched protectively to the right, his fine beak resting on bent knee. Could it be?

Once inside, the high bits of colored glass cast their rainbows across the uneven stone floor. Up front in the sanctuary was bordered off with rope. Two conservators busied themselves over an ancient tapestry just after the choir stalls. In faded glory paraded a knight on horseback, his lance upraised to spear a serpentine creature his white mount trod underfoot. Such an unmistakable scene could only be St. George himself. She shivered with awe, fingering the small shield pin upon her blazer lapel.

"Dr. Ellis!" Anne Duane-Pricefield said, turning her head at the sound of Marianne's approach. "Good to see you back. Just in time to get some samples from the tapestry."

"Who's the audience?" Marianne asked.

"This is Dr. Lydia Duane... the museum just called her in to take a look at the artifacts here..." Anne said, indicating the woman to her left.

"Pleasure is mine," Marianne nodded, extending her hand to the middle-aged woman in her blue jeans and plaid shirt. "Actually you are a former student of my mum, aren't you?"

"Yes," Lydia shook Marianne's hand. "Although I almost didn't recognize you at first!"

"14th century tapestry, in the most remarkable condition," Anne showed her sister the tapestry. Still the colors were far from faded, the face of the saint still discernible in it's defiant pose, and the greens of the dragon were also visible.

"I saw it as well," Dr. Ellis smiled slowly. "Perhaps it's the effect of this town? The fact that the locals take their legends seriously."

"Indeed. The vicar said the greatest of care was being taken... hence he called us in." Anne nodded, as she handed several tubes to Dr. Ellis.

"But that's not why you're here, is it Lydia?" Marianne asked her. "As I recall, tapestries aren't your forte?"

"Actually it's these," Lydia laughed as she produced a set of runestones, each about the size of her little finger. On one side were scribed odd runic writing, and on the reverse were odd spiral carvings. "Anne found them in the church's basement, and called me in to give my assessment. Strangely well preserved. They seem to point to a significant burial in the site that Arthur and I are excavating."

"What site is that?" Marianne asked.

"It is rumored that Merlin himself might very well be buried here… in a place called Dragon's Grotto."

"Perhaps it is because time itself would stand still here," came a familiar voice. From a side pew a viewer came forwards. Marianne managed a small smile, recognition in her face as she took in the handsome gentleman. His long hair was neatly tied back; his long beard very unusual compared to any of the townspeople Lydia had yet seen.

"Do I know you?" Lydia asked.

"I must say I didn't expect to see you here, milady," the stranger said, as he took Marianne's hand to kiss it.

"You are a welcome sight," she smiled. Lydia noticed it hardly dissolved the solemn mask. Far unlike the Marianne she had heard of from Anne. So distant and preoccupied those steel blue eyes seemed.

"This is my friend... Arthur," Marianne said, turning to her friends. "He's... interested in antiquities... it's a hobby of his."

"Glad to see another fellow historian," Lydia smiled, as the man Arthur took her hand and kissed it. "Have I seen you before? You look... familiar."

"Many have said thus," he said, inclining his head. Oddly the features were the paragon of regal serenity she had not seen since perhaps in portraits of ancient monarchs.

"He has that sort of face," Marianne said hastily.

"I am most interested in what you have to say about Merlin," Arthur said softly. "You are a scholar?"

"Yes as a matter of fact," Lydia caught herself. "My colleague and I unearthed the Scrolls of Merlin, two years ago."

"And what a discovery that was indeed," Arthur said, kissing her hand. "Am I to understand this is the place they were found?"

"Nearby. But we found little else at the site. Yet we only recently have rounded up enough money to continue excavating in Dragon's Grotto which is a whole series of caves."

Marianne watched the dialogue with interest. Yet Anne noticed the sudden tears in her eyes when Lydia mentioned, the word Dragon. Her eyes fixed upon the tapestry, with its image of St. George piercing a winding green serpent. Marianne's blue eyes locked into the image, her body becoming quite rigid.

"Are you all right milady?" Arthur turned his head to look at her. Excusing himself from Lydia and Anne, he lay a hand on her shoulder. "What malady ails you?"

"Er, Arthur... may I have a word with you, outside?"

"Indeed there is much to discuss, from your manner, milady. I may take my leave of you now, gentle ladies."

"Sure," Anne Pricefield nodded. "Just make sure to get us the results as soon as you can, Dr. Ellis from that tapestry."

"Right," Marianne sighed, as Arthur offered his arm. "Good luck on your excavation, Lydia," Marianne lifted her head to say. Then the odd couple exited the small church together, Marianne completely silent.

"It is indeed a pleasure to see you again, Lady Marianne," Arthur Pendragon said softly as they strolled through the garden. "It seems fate has brought our paths together."

"How goes the search for Merlin?" she asked. " I heard Lydia saying…"

"The traces of Excalibur brought us hence," he said. "And if this is Merlin's resting place it is I who can perhaps free him from the stone."

"I knew I recognized that gargoyle out front of the church," she said with a slight sad laugh.

"May I ask a question milady?"

"Yes."

"You seem most despondent and why are you not in the company of your lord Charles."

"We had a bit of a falling out," she said, trying to fight the tears.

"I am most sorry to hear so."

"It was a choice between duty and my heart," she sniffed, bravely forcing back tears.

"It often is," Arthur said, taking her hand between his. "But what brings you hence?"

"I would ask you for I am here because my work has sent me."

Both friends had reached the main road by now, exiting the peaceful church garden. Marianne thrust hands into her pockets as she glanced at her stepping feet. Arthur let her hand go, moving quickly to keep up with her pace.

"There were legends of an ancient cavern containing great magic. It is called the Dragon's cove and I often recalled my friend Merlin had dealings with such. Perhaps that is why you were here as well, to aid me on my quest."

"I would like to help, but there are rather a bit of sticky situations here."

Arthur's eyes fell upon a van winding its way through the town far faster then necessary. He threw Marianne to the ground as the van vanished around the roadbed. Slowly he helped her to stand, glancing backwards at the strange vehicle's dust cloud.

"Are you harmed milady?"

"Good grief some people think they can drive where they bloody well please."

"Such strong language milady," he shook his head. "But considering your life was threatened... I would see whoever is responsible is punished!"

"Are you two all right?" asked Lydia Duane, rushing up with Anne Pricefield. Anne moved past them towards a constable trundling his bike up the path.

"Yes but what in the world?" Arthur muttered.

"It was from that chemical company!" Anne grumbled. "Honestly, they are getting more obnoxious by the day."

"Chemical company?" Arthur wondered. "What sort of danger does this hold?"

"Nightstone Industries is trying to work it's way into this town," Lydia Duane shook her head. "Arthur and I have been racing against time to finish our excavation… we must have enough to make a case against their purchase of the land."

"Did you say Nightstone?" Marianne asked, an eyebrow raised.

"It was printed on the van," Lydia said. "Anne's getting the constable."

"What is Nightstone?" Arthur asked. "Some strange demon or monster?"

Lydia laughed. "Some in the town would say so... for it's been a debate in the local council for a better part of a year. They promise better jobs for the locals while I have claimed the land should be set aside for a museum."

"No doubt," Marianne muttered, as she brushed herself off. "But I cannot help but think many of the local farmers would protest having a chemical company in their backyard. And I don't entirely think Nightstone is the best or most reputable of companies."

"It would mean more money to help restore artifacts," Lydia pointed out. "Perhaps they could be convinced upon another parcel of land up the road."

"Hmm, and it's up to us at the museum to decide just how much damage pollution could cause..." Marianne muttered. Her blood chilled within her veins as she suddenly remembered just who worked for Nightstone.

"Are you all right, milady?" Arthur asked.

"We aren't sure how this will impact the community," Lydia was saying to them as Marianne's eyes went blank. "Marianne?"

"Oh, sorry. I was just thinking not all of the people here seem that thrilled do they?"

Arthur Morewood Smythe had turned his back for a moment, to see the two children gone!

"Good grief," he groaned, running a hand through his short hair. "I'm in for it now..." He heard the distant noises of two children laughing and shouting. Hiding a smile he set off into the woods after them.

"Can't catch me!" Lucy shouted, tucking Griffy under her arm.

"You rotter I'll get you," Tim growled, running after his sister. In her hand she gripped his masonry trowel.

Tim caught up with her at last. Lucy stood rigid at the mouth of a clearing, eyes wide. "You lead me on a good chase right enough. Now come back before..."

"Shh, you'll scare it," she hissed, turning on him. Tim shut up, and glanced in the direction she pointed. Out into the clearing past the branches he could see the low curving hill. He remembered this clearing, for it wasn't far from the Cave where his aunt had been digging last year. He and Lucy often came here, for the ruins of the castle grew thick with ivy.

However it wasn't ivy that snaked among the trees now, but a gleaming length of sapphire blue. At first the shiny surface reflected the sunlight like a car. It wasn't an auto, however, for it ran long and thin in one direction, and swelled to large mounds as his eye followed it the other. Large spiky protrusions sprang up along the growing hummock, covered in a cracked shiny mosaic of spectral blue, ultramarine, and sapphire.

He drew in his breath as he saw the twitching of the tip of the long thin length. Slowly it curled, as if were a living serpent. A spade shaped tip flickered up, then lay down once again. It wasn't a snake, but a tail! What was at the other end froze him in place. His eyes curled around its length to the swelling hill it was connected too. The large spines flattered out much like the bony plates on a stegosaurus' back, laying in two rows up to a rise of perhaps higher then his aunt's van. Gracefully it humped, to disappear under a huge tarpaulin on three shiny blue poles. Out of the other side of the tent poked a long length, which ended in a head, much like that of a dinosaur he'd seen in the Museum. There was a distortion in the air near the scaly nose, much like steam rising from two holes. Nostrils. Looking back he saw a mouth shut fast, with a mighty set of jowls running into a small drum shaped structure, and many bony spikes above a large shut eyelid.

His first thought was Dinosaur, but the head was unlike any Stegosaurus he'd seen in the movies. It was more massive, like that of a T-Rex, but graceful and slender muzzled like that of a horse. Slowly the creature yawned, revealing a set of teeth that certainly reminded him of T-Rex.

"Mega," he gasped. "A dinosaur! But it's not a stegosaurus, or a Brontosaurus with those teeth."

"Not a dinosaur silly," his sister hissed. "A... Dragon!"

"There's no such thing," he laughed.

"Does a Bronto have long sharp teeth?" she asked.

"A T-rex does, and so does an allosaur," he said. "Maybe it's a mutant!"

Before she could stop him, he crept out into the clearing to get a closer look. The sapphire head shifted and twitched. Tim reached the tip of the massive tail; glad the dinosaur seemed asleep. He would hate to get caught in those wicked fangs. Sure enough the tail ended in a spade shape, flaring out from the tip. But the crown of the tip was perhaps as big around as his ankle. How large was it? Slowly a blue eye blinked open, and glanced back towards the movement.

Lucy stifled a scream as she saw the head slowly lifting and gliding on its long neck towards her unsuspecting brother. Tim left the tail, stepping over it carefully as he moved towards what appeared to be a massive leg. The flank it was tightly folded under rose and fell with an almost hypnotic rhythm. Strangely for what he'd read about dinos, the skin was segmented into scales like a crocodile or snake, gleaming. Was it slimy or dry?

His hand reached out to the heaving mass of shiny blue. A snort sounded behind him, and he felt heat on his neck. Tim froze in place, not daring to glance behind him. There was a movement of steam that gently warmed his hair and shoulders, a low rumbling that vibrated the air before his hand. Wasn't a dinosaur cold blooded?

He turned his head, staring right into the muzzle and two nostrils. Blue eyes fixed on him, his petrified expression mirrored in the dark narrow slatted pupils.

* * *

St. George's Church, Raveloe:

Lydia Duane heard her cellular phone ringing urgently. Snapping open the case she asked, "Yes, Arthur?"

Marianne Ellis and Arthur Pendragon looked up from a set of runestones in the church basement. A look of fear shot over Lydia's face as she listened for a minute.

"What's wrong?" Anne asked.

"The children have gone missing," Lydia announced. "But Arthur's gone after them... I'm on my way."

"What happened?"

"They wandered off... exploring no doubt," Lydia sighed.

"We'll be happy to help search," Marianne offered.

"I too would offer my services," Arthur chimed in.

"That's very kind of you but you don't know the area."

"We'll learn it soon enough," Marianne said. "Best get a start now."

"I'll tell the constable," Anne chewed her fingernails. "Probably just another one of Timmy's little exploring adventures."

Arthur secured something at his hip, as Marianne grabbed her coat. She fumbled for something under her shirt as they rushed out after Lydia Duane. The agonizing look she exchanged with Anne was met with a nod.

"It's not your fault. They run off all the time... now just get after them!" Anne assured her. "I'm sure they'll turn up!"

"They run off all the time?" Arthur asked Lydia. She leapt into her Land Rover, Arthur climbing into the seat behind her as Marianne settled into the front.

"Yes but it's getting rather late."

"Before we set off there is something that might aid us in our search," Arthur suggested, pointing to the front of the museum. He leapt off the truck, nodding to Marianne. The two of them threw a tarp over the griffin statue, wrapping it with ropes.

"Lydia, give us a hand!" she called, rushing for the crane. Neither noticed as a distant shadow climbed into its car as well, roaring off into the dusk.

Tim backed away from the muzzle, colliding with the steaming warm flank. That detached part of his mind wondered at the warmth of what should have been cold reptilian flesh. As he backed up the muzzle stopped inches from his chest, sniffing him carefully.

"Don't eat me," he choked. A disinterested snort and a low rumbling came from the throat, as it wagged its head from side to side. Bright sapphire eyes fixed him in their hypnotic stare. Then it drew its head back as he felt the movement of the flank behind him. The tent before him seemed to open, unfurl into two halves as he fell backwards. For the flank lifted, rose and towered. His head barely came to the massive knee of a leg as big around as a tree trunk.

"Oh no." Tim breathed, staring at the plates on a massive belly canopying over him. The tent unfurled into massive membranous wings that brushed the trees across the clearing.

"Leave him alone!" Lucy shrieked, rushing out towards the massive beast. She dropped Griffy behind her.

"Stay back!" Tim choked out as she tripped. The large muzzle descended upon his sister, who fell headlong. She screamed as she saw the nose touching her. A massive claw reached for her.

"Stop it you great brute!" Tim shouted, pounding the massive leg near him. Then he felt something snake around his hips and lift him into the air screaming and kicking. With supreme grace the ground swelled up as he was placed down next to his sister. The Dragon backed away, folding its massive wings with nary a small flutter to the air. Tim helped his sister to stand. Slowly they backed away together. The Dragon mirrored their movements, backing away as well.

"Run!" Tim shouted, as he grabbed her hand and yanked her with him. "Griffy! I left Griffy!" she howled.

"Never mind your stupid stuffed rag!" he shouted. "It'll eat us alive!"

She broke away from him, running back towards the clearing. The Dragon had not moved, and in one claw raised above its massive head was clenched her toy!

"Give it back!" she cried. Gently the claw lowered the toy, and gently set it down. The Dragon shuffled backwards as she stepped out. Snatching up the toy she ran back to Tim. The dragon did not follow. Instead it watched the two from a distance, laying down.

"Why isn't it following us?" she asked.

"It's trying to lure us into its confidence or something."

"Wait, I' hear something," Lucy put her hand to her ear. AS if she could hear something he could not. A low rumbling intermixed with a strange whine. In and out with the rhythm of the breathing.

"Don't be dim I don't..."

"Shh. it's singing," she whispered, moving towards it. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Are you mad?" he tried to stop her as she moved into the clearing. "It's a spell!"

"If it wanted to eat us, it would have done it in two snaps," she turned on him, Griffy tucked into her arms. "It gave me Griffy back!"

"Don't be a baby," he snorted. "It's gonna eat us!"

"I am not a baby!" she snapped back.

"I'm six and a half!"

"You are too a baby!"

A loud rumbling interrupted them, and they stopped in mid argument. For the Dragon lifted its head, a chuffing sound from its throat. It wagged its head from side to side as if shaking no.

"It's laughing at us," she said. "And scolding us."

"What?"

"Can't you hear it?" she asked. "Its saying how disagreeable we are. And it only wants to play with Griffy."

He thought his sister had lost all her wits as she returned to the clearing. Marching right up to the Dragon's muzzle, she asked, "Do you wanna play?" A tail lightly stroked the back of her legs, making her jump with a shriek. "That tickles!" she cried, almost dropping her toy.

Tim marveled as the dragon hooded its eyes, and flicked its tongue quickly at Griffy, pushing it towards her. The muzzle nudged her, the tongue lapping around her face like that of a dog. A low purring sound erupted into a low soothing tone. "It's purring!" she cried as she reached out to touch the massive muzzle. It let her run her hand between the eyes, petting and stroking as it closed its eyes in satisfaction. Once more it lowered its head, letting the little girl pet it.

"I don't believe this," Tim groaned.

Two golden figures gleamed as they rocketed into view. Tim and Lucy glanced skywards at the owners of cackling voices, their eyes glowing wickedly.


	4. Sapphire Drake

_Disclaimer: The Characters of Gargoyles are property of Disney. Marianne Ellis is property of me, Trynia Merin, as are the characters of the town of Raveloe. Chas Quin Cassidy and related magical items like Wavedancer are property of Beth Strong a.k.a. Javagoddess, which I use with her permission. I want to thank her for her help in developing the ideas in this story. It is not intended to harm Gargoyles in any way._

**To Slay or Not to Slay the Dragon **

Written 12/12/99 by Trynia Merin/Janeth Rhian

* * *

_**Part 4: The Blue Drake**_

There came a loud bellow, as Arthur and Marianne drew in their breaths. Ever closer the Land Rover roared to the source of the shouts. Lydia Duane let out a gasp of alarm. Rubbing her eyes, she stared. Then rubbed again. "It cannot be," she croaked, voice dwindling to a whisper.

Marianne's throat tightened as her eyes registered just what she saw. A large sapphire bulk, moving within and behind the trees at the speed of a freight train. Again came a loud unearthly bellow, louder then a siren yet deeper.

"Tis a Dragon!" King Arthur gasped.

"You must surely be joking," Lydia Duane gasped. "It's... not is it?"

"There are stranger things..." Marianne muttered grimly. How could something that huge move so rapidly? Lydia gunned the Land Rover after it, weaving through the trees. Arthur and Marianne clung for dear life.

"It seems the villagers were right about a monster in the woods," Marianne realized.

"There must be some logical, rational explanation," muttered Lydia.

"WE must after the beast... if any get in its way," King Arthur said. Marianne nodded grimly, and glanced at their friend, who was clearly in over her head.

"It is not my wish for you to be harmed," Arthur said to her.

Laughter came from the trees, as the sound of jet engines roared. It was not the same sound, Marianne realized, although she secretly hoped it was. Again came the flash of setting sun against something ultramarine. Bright flashes of light resounded as shouts and bellows ensued.

"I'll have to insist you let us out here," Marianne said to Lydia.

"What on Earth are you doing?"

"There are people in danger, and it is my duty to protect them," Arthur said automatically, shredding his coat as he ran into action. Marianne too leapt out, after the King.

Two local children gasped in alarm as they were behind the bulk of an enormous serpentine head. Eyes blazed amidst steam. Two trench coated figures fired wildly at the snaking head upon a long cylindrical neck. Wind hit Arthur and Marianne as they rushed up, in a sudden gust. It blew up around the coats of the two fighters, revealing strange gleaming metal beneath.

"Two brave knights that attempt to save the citizens... the Dragon has captive," Arthur muttered.

"Wait... things aren't always what they seem," Marianne cautioned as Arthur rushed out.

Quickly he drew his sword, Excalibur flashing in the light of the setting sun. From the back of the Land Rover, a strangely wrapped bundle rustled. Lydia shrieked as she was doused in a hail of stone fragments. A piercing shriek wailed into her ears. Something moved from behind her. Again Lydia screamed. But this time a cheerful pair of eyes regarded her as a normal English accent said, "I beg your pardon ma'am terribly sorry to frighten you."

"What... in the name of..." Lydia gasped with extreme fascination and terror as her eyes fixed upon the smiling beak of a Griffin.

"Name's Griff. Sir Griff... no need to fear miss..."

"What... who?" was all Lydia Duane could get out at the site of the griffin.

His beak cocked towards the sounds of battle ahead. "By Jove, sounds like the King needs me."

"The King," Lydia said weakly, stammering in the direction of the bushes.

"Cheerio... must dash... some friends of mine appear to be in a bit of trouble," Griff saluted, two huge wings spreading. Red feathers coated their undersides as he leapt off the Land Rover, and into the nearest tree. A lion's tail and hindquarters flicked as he vanished. Lydia dropped against her driver's seat in a state of total shock at what she had just seen.

"Rrraaaagh!" bellowed the Dragon, as Arthur raced between the knights and it. Excalibur swung, deflecting the swiping claws.

"Oh, this is interesting," Jackal said to Hyena. "This guy's doing our work for us!"

"Why let him have all the fun," she laughed, and raised her weapon.

Marianne raced out, and gasped in fear. "Look out!" she cried to Arthur as she saw one of the figures raise its gun to fire.

Arthur ducked, the laser beam narrowly missing him. But she was not aiming at Arthur, but some other target. For there came an ear splitting wail that wrenched Mary's heart. Blood seeped in a strange hole in its leg.

"What?" she gasped, as she and Arthur picked themselves up.

"Milady... this is no place for you..." he called. Both turned to face the two warriors.

"Get out of the way," Jackal called.

"Forsooth you have saved us!" Arthur called, as Hyena fired again. Arthur didn't see the Dragon's tail until it had swatted him out of the way.

"No!" Marianne cried, rushing to face the Dragon. Two frightened children huddled forty-five feet away, in the shelter of a cavern opening.

Griff shot out, a red and gold arrow as he intercepted the flying Arthur. Quickly he caught the King in his outstretched arms. "A bit ruffled, your Majesty?" he asked.

"Ah Sir Griff, you have come in the nick of time!"

"By Jove, a Dragon!" Griff cried excitedly as he circled back.

Marianne suddenly shouted out, "By George I summon thine Aid!" before the Dragon could react. Beryl energy shot around her, swathing her in mediaeval armor. Shouting, she brandished her sword. A very surprised Dragon backed away from her, an odd look in its eyes. Jackal and Hyena shook their heads.

"What the hell?" Jackal muttered as he saw the woman in armor appear before their eyes.

"Who cares! Let's get what we came here for!"

Griff screeched, carrying Arthur as they circled back. Marianne felt the noise resounding in her heart, striking an odd cord as Arthur swung a power flash at the Dragon. It crashed against a blast of hellfire. Steam erupted in her face. Strangely the Dragon didn't seem to be paying her much mind as she slashed wildly. Nimbly it dodged her blows, shifting to two legs then to four. A quick slash narrowly missed Arthur.

Jackal and Hyena fired strange rocket packs, lifting off. They levitated within thirty feet of the circling Griff. Together they aimed their weapons, firing. Suddenly a bolt of fire crashed against them as the Dragon opened its large jaws. Gleaming tongues lashed out, hitting the trees nearby into a blaze.

Arthur shouted, fire singing past Griff's wing as he circled back, letting loose with another cut from Excalibur. But strangely the sword passed right through the Dragon's claw, without so much as leaving a mark.

Marianne rushed forwards, slashing as she lifted her shield to bear. The Dragon hardly seemed to notice as she aimed a stroke right for its hindquarters. As her sword passed through its leg, she gasped. It cocked its head in her direction, snorting with a loud grunt. Its eyes fixed upon her as she moved towards the children.

"Don't be frightened," she said, approaching them.

Arthur passed in again, slashing a stroke that would have decapitated an ogre. Twin shots from

Jackal and Hyena sponged against thick neck plates. Swinging its wings back, the Dragon set out

A blast of wind hurled Griff and Arthur through the trees.

"Who are you?" the boy gasped.

"It's St. George!" the girl cried, clapping her hands. "He's come to fight the dragon."

Marianne realized they saw the cross on her shield. "That's right I've been sent to save you... Quickly, come with me while the Dragon is distracted."

"But the Dragon is our friend!" they chorused.

She moved both children away from the Dragon cave, pushing them along the edge of the clearing. Jackal cackled, jetting right into the Dragon's face. Claws slashed wildly. Both children screamed as they saw blue sparks snorting from its flaring nostrils. There came a sound like a burning transformer. A giant spark exploded in the Dragon's face, hurling Jackal backwards.

Arthur slid down with Griff from the tree, meeting with Marianne. "Get these children to Lydia!" she called to them.

"Wow!" the girl cried. "Are you a king?"

"Indeed I am," Arthur replied. "And here to save you two."

"Go with them," Marianne urged. Grief took both children, moving off into the trees toward Lydia's jeep. Jackal and Hyena continued their attack on the Dragon, as Marianne and Arthur rushed to their rescue.

Out of the corner of her eye Marianne noticed one of them raising a weapon to bear on Arthur. She opened her mouth to say something. Suddenly the weapon sizzled past him as she shoved him down.

"What?" Arthur snorted.

There came a shout as Marianne's helmet rolled off. She gasped as a blue claw swiped down of nowhere, wrapping around her waist. "Let me go!" she screamed.

"Milady!" Arthur shouted. A tree splintered to the ground, torn loose by the Dragon's tail. With a whoosh the trunk was set ablaze, separating Arthur from the creature. Jackal and Hyena raised their hands as fire leaked over them.

"Oy! Hands off, you great brute!" Marianne screamed angrily, wiggling in the Dragon's claw. Tree branches swatted at her face as they moved off with incredible speed. It moved on three legs, rapidly towards the hillside. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the gold forms, their laser weapons blazing after her. The Dragon bellowed as another shot hit it in the hindquarters.

* * *

Blackness loomed up, eclipsing the night sky of stars. She gasped as the night vanished around them. Then came a sudden explosion as stray laser blasts from two guns hit the rocks of the cliffs and hills. Marianne screamed as she heard rocks sliding downwards around her. Dust choked her lungs in the blackness. She felt herself slip to the ground, the claw releasing her. Light blazed on as fire sprang up in one corner of the space.

Drawing in her breath, she stared at the creature. There she was, backed up against the cold cavern walls, when a huge muzzle sniffled against her armor. She shivered, fearing acid hot breath burning her skin. Yet the coolness in the air betrayed any presence of fire. Rather the Dragon withdrew its muzzle, and tilted its head to one size. Impossibly sapphire eyes examined her form. Was intelligence present therein? She gasped, pushing further into the wall.

"Well are you going to eat me or not?" she asked, fear pounding her heart. A disinterested snort of steam in her face was the answer.

"I suppose you do understand English," she sighed. A low whining sound escaped its throat as the long neck arched the head toward one foreleg. Across its wrist was a nasty gash. A long tongue snaked out, flickering across its ichorish gash. Slowly lapping up blood to stem the tide. From within the mighty neck came a bass rumbling. That rose in waves of pure sound. Healing rich as organ pipes. Mary put her sword down, and her shield to one side. Her interest fixed on the gash, which was slowly trying to close itself. Was this Dragon using sound to heal this wound?

Suddenly it hit her. Chas did much the same thing! When she had gotten a nasty scrape on her knees from a tumble down the stairs, he had held her close. Shushing her as he began to sing. In low baritone humming. Humming her anger and hurt pride away. The scrapes ceased bleeding, enough for him to gently bathe and bandage them once they arrived at her apartment. Could this Dragon be attempting something similar?

Mary tore a strip of cloth off her tabard. "Here let me, " she said, feeling the strange rumbling in her ears. It seemed to soothe her fears. Obviously if this dragon wanted to eat her it would have done so by now or was it toying with her? She recalled stories of her favorite fantasy novels. Of how Dragons could bewitch. But that particular Dragon could talk. This one didn't. But she hadn't heard it try.

She screwed up courage, and moved forwards, the strip of cloth held before her. The Dragon started, as she moved to the leg, which was thick around as a tree trunk. "Quiet, you're bigger than me, and could eat me in two bites I cannot possibly hurt you so just let me help "

She dabbed ever so lightly at the wound, hearing a hiss permeating the low bass rumbling. "Don't be such a baby. A great big creature such as you!" she found herself scolding. And a strange tenderness came into her mouth. Choking off her words. Tearing off more cloth she bandaged the gash, pressing rich tabard cloth to scaly flesh. Strangely the blood was hot to the touch. She had assumed Dragons were reptilian, hence cold blooded. But there were many things she had learned to question she had taken for granted in Science.

"I'm sorry if it hurts," she said, running fingers over the textured scales. Dry and smooth like a snake. She loved snakes well enough. Dry smoothness with warmth under it and soft flexible looseness met her fingertips. Yet each scale was overlapped like that of a fish. Warm. From behind, something gently pushed. Mary stumbled against the leg, turning about. The dragon's muzzle nudged her chest, a bit forcefully, yet with the playfulness of a faithful dog.

Moving up her chest it nuzzled her face, cold scales over hot warmth contacting her skin. Withdrawing for a moment, the blue eyes regarded her. A sparkle filled them. "Well, I never," she murmured. Reaching out a hand she lay it on the broad nose, careful not to burn her hands on the steam coming from its nostrils. Moving past the muzzle she stroked up over the eye, to behind one ear. A blue eye shut fast, a huge rumbling emanating from the mighty Dragon's throat sending fear into her. She continued to scratch, petting as if it were some gargantuan dog or cat.

The rumbling continued, the base tone she'd heard before laying overtop. "It's purring " she laughed half in shock and wonder. "Good grief! The ruddy thing's purring like some cat! You like that, don't you? Imagine this a Dragon loving being scratched behind the ears "

Still the fear gripped her. Thrill and fear that choked her throat. It was terrifying yet strangely exciting to be touching such a powerful force. Was it an animal? Or was it sentient? Did it matter? Her definition of intelligence was so limited and biased. What sort of creature would wantonly attack humans unless it had a cause to? "Maybe it's a mother, protecting its nest," she wondered. A quick glance around the cavern, which was not hidden by the Dragon's sapphire bulk, revealed no Eggs. Yet the Cavern appeared to wind much deeper than she'd expected.

Marianne dispelled her armor, standing back for a moment. The Dragon snorted in light surprise, sniffling at her clothed form with steaming nostrils. Then again it rubbed its cheek along her front, bumping her chin as it did so. A long tongue snaked out, brushing against her face as she coughed and spluttered.

"Hey! Do you mind?" she half laughed, half yelled in fear and wild thrill. Again the dry tongue flicked over her face and hair.

"Now see here," she said, seizing the muzzle with both hands. The huge head stayed fast, one eye blinking right into hers. "What is all this about anyway? Are you friend or foe? Obviously you don't intend to devour me or whatever nonsense like that. But are you simply toying with me? Or have the villagers in some way provoked your attack? Is that it?"

The eye blinked again. And something much like a low growl escaped its throat. An affirming tone as if it were. "Is this your nest are you some sort of Guardian or parent?" Another low tone, rumbling in its throat was its answer.

"Do the townsfolk threaten you?"

There was a shake, which bumped her to one side. A dragon Claw caught her in its' grip. Mary gasped, fearing what it would next do. Again the muzzle zoomed into view, a foot from her face.

"I take that is a no," she stammered.

Rearing up on its haunches, the Dragon held her in one massive talon. Wings folded behind it as it reared on its hind legs. A low rumbling came with its nod.

"Does one particular person threaten you?" Another rumble affirmed her statement. "But why are you here? Are you a natural species?" she began. And then scolded herself for sounding so clinical. How could this Dragon possibly understand such words? Even though it seemed to understand her English well enough to respond.

A nod surprised her. The eyes sparkled with a light that suddenly resembled a twinkle in the eyes of a beloved teacher.

"Apart from the obvious why would anyone threaten you or this Cavern?"

The claw gently tightened around Mary, and she shrieked. Dropping to three of its limbs, the Dragon delicately glided further back in the cave. And lay itself across a thick stalagmite. Already she could see darkness from outside. Separated from them by a massive boulder the Dragon had moved there. Small cracks were all that let remote moonlight in.

"Hey what in…"

Slowly it reached into another part of the cave, withdrawing something in its other claw. In its hands were an odd pile of shining scales and feathers. It dropped them before itself, and placed Mary firmly beside it. One talon pointed to the pile. A heavy snort and steam hit the back of her neck.

"What?" She fingered the scales. They were of many different hues and colors. Not sapphire blue, but opal, gold, red, and black. "Other Dragons live here or lived here at one time?" she asked.

Again the tongue reached out, licking across her face.

"But " she coughed, pushing the tongue out of her face. "It was knights or a human that killed them is that it? Is that the story? Are you the last of your kind?"

An enigmatic snort and rumble was her only answer. There came the clank of a stone as its spade tipped tail moved it into the light of Mary's sword. Gasping she dropped to her knee. The Celtic spirals and runes looked remarkably similar to those stones in the Church.

"Good Grief… is this what I think it is?" she asked, fingering the stone. It was the size of her fist, river finish smooth with etchings. Glancing about she saw other odd carvings upon the cave walls, strange runes that must have stood for centuries.

"But you can't just keep me here!" she said, frustrated.

For a moment the Dragon turned, its massive body moving with a grace that belied its bulk. The tail narrowly missed her as it moved before her and the door. The long neck moved to another far corner of the cave, and suddenly dropped something before her. It appeared to be a flank of deer.

She was about to shudder, when a neat tongue of fire licked from the Dragon's mouth, licking over the mass of meat. Massive claws gently peeled off the skin, and flesh from bones, as roast venison smell rose to her nostrils. One claw grabbed her again; as the other peeled off a bit of roasted meat, and pressed it skewered on one talon before her mouth.

"You want me to eat that?" she said, with a bit of apprehension. She took the morsel, which was quite a sizable chunk of roast venison. Dripping with all the juices of life and clearness it was hard to resist. "Good grief I don't believe I'm doing this," she muttered as she reached to eat.

* * *

Dragon's Grotto, Midlands, England 1999:

Two children huddled with their aunt Lydia Duane in the Land Rover. Both were frightened out of their wits, but were starting to calm down now that Griff was with them. The girl seemed strangely unafraid of him, as he clutched her in his massive arms. The boy gripped his hand, nervously climbing into the vehicle next to Lydia.

"Who... what?"

"It is all right! We have rescued the victims... and here come the King now."

"What King?"

"King Arthur!" the girl cried. "I saw his sword Excalibur!"

Indeed the figure that rushed back with billowing cape seemed right out of a TH White book. The raised sword, the noble countenance, the wrinkled brow all fused into a portrait of a worried man indeed. His plate mail gleamed in the Land Rover's headlights. "The Lady has been kidnaped!" he related to Griff.

"What happened to St. George?" asked the girl. "He was fighting the Dragon just like in the legends."

"There isn't such thing," Lydia gasped.

"We just saw him," the boy said. "Or someone carrying his shield."

"Wait... you... where did you get that armor, and what is going on?" Lydia asked him.

"Milady, our friend has been captured by a dragon, and King Arthur is most indeed worried," said Arthur Pendragon. "And the two noble knights came to her rescue are returning."

Jackal and Hyena suddenly burst out of the trees, engines flaring as they landed. "That was a big mess, sister!" he shouted.

"Hey, it's not my fault you screwed up with those brats..."

Seeing the strange assembly, they landed. Lydia looked at them oddly, as Griff's eyes narrowed at the sight of them.

"It's the Pack!" the boy shouted. "They're criminals!"

"What?" Arthur cried.

"Kids say the dandiest things," laughed Hyena.

"But you are not noble knights?" Arthur asked, drawing in his breath.

"No way buster. And as for your pet parakeet... our boss would love to get the lowdown on you."

"Who are you?" Lydia asked.

"Better not say a word of this to anyone," Jackal said to her, grabbing Lydia's chin and flicking open his claws. "I suggest you take these two brats, and scoot before my sister dear changes her mind about dinner."

"Do as he says," Griff suggested. "We'll be all right... get those children home."

Lydia hugged the children to her as she got into the jeep and drove away, rather reluctantly. Leaving Arthur and Griff in the clutches of the two "knights".

"Now what is the meaning of this?" Arthur demanded.

"It's simple. We have a job to do, and we don't need weirdos like you interrupting it," Jackal said.

"And since your friend is a Gargoyle, I'm sure our employer would be more then happy to let you off for it," said Hyena.

"But the Dragon..."

"Is none of your biz wax!" Hyena snapped. "Now shut up and come with us, if you know what's good for you!"

Lydia returned to the Lance and Dragon pub. A frightened mother gasped as she saw her children, before the archaeologist.

"Thank goodness you're all right!" Anne cried, moving towards her daughter Lucy.

"Mommy it was St. George!" Lucy sobbed, springing into her mother's arms.

"St. George?" she gasped. "But that's... oh dear are you hurt?"

"We saw a dragon," the boy said. "I told you it exists..."

Dr. Morewood-Smythe moved towards his colleague, as Lydia rushed to his arms. "Are you all right, my dear?" he asked.

"I don't know what I saw, but it was most distressing... and it captured Dr. Ellis."

"No," Anne gasped, holding her daughter and son tightly.

"It was a dragon, and there were two nasty dog people chasing us," Tim said.

"Start at the beginning, right now," Anne scolded. "And no stories."

"But I'm telling the truth Mum!" Lucy insisted. "I saw St. George, and I saw the Dragon!"

"They... are telling the truth," Lydia gasped, from Dr. Morewood-Smythe's arms. "Believe me I saw it with my own eyes."

"You cannot be serious," Smythe gasped.

"I have never been more so then I was about the Scrolls of Merlin," said she.

"But where is this King Arthur now?"

"Gone," she gasped, shaking her head.

* * *

Slowly Arthur lifted his head. Something hard yet spongy supported his back and shoulders. The king drew in his breath to see strange white robed figures with scarves over their faces moving about him. A sharp prick to his arm made him wince, and he gasped as he saw blood being withdrawn.

"Am I so ill I need the bloodletting?" he wondered as he saw these odd leeches with clear bodies marked with lines. Once the belly was filled, the leech was pulled out in a swift motion. Arthur found his armor and standard set off to one side in the shining white firmament of the room. He could not move even if he wanted to.

"Be I in Heaven?" he asked, tongue like a lead weight in his mouth.

"It depends on what you mean by that... sir," a low smooth voice spoke. "One man's heaven is another's hell."

"What diatribe is this?" Arthur asked, unable to do more then turn his head to look at the source. Like the others, this draped figure had human eyes bright in the strange ethereal light. "Be you magician or sorcerer?"

"To you, perhaps yes," he snickered. Arthur glimpsed at the site behind the man, (it had to be a man, for the frame was broad shouldered and tall) gasping as he realized who it was.

"Sir Griff!" he gasped out, before shutting his mouth. Slowly the Gargoyle turned his beak to face Arthur, his eyes blazing as he struggled against the bindings.

"Screech!" he roared, eagle wings flailing.

"What have you done to my companion!" Arthur shouted. "I swear if you've harmed him..."

"You are hardly in a position to complain," the smooth voice laughed. "This is hardly a good time for you to object to my saving your life."

"You lying scum!" Griff shouted. "Your rotters captured us!"

"Were those two knights your minions?" Arthur growled. "If so..."

"Calm yourself sire, or should I say, Your Majesty," the voice tisked. Pulling the scarf away he revealed a pallid complexion and clean- face.

"What is your purpose, sorcerer and how know you of me?"

"Come now, it's scientific reasoning... simple as adding two and two," Dr. Sevarious laughed. "That device on your chainmail, the aging in your genetic markers... I'd say from the Mitochondria DNA dating back to 4th century Britain. All the evidence suggests that you are a Briton. And the artifacts also, from my unwitting experts, have told volumes."

"I may be, but this is hardly a way to treat the High King... as a common knave!"

"High King are we?" he laughed. "My, my we do have a flair for the mighty."

"How dare you insult me, Arthur Pendragon!"

"Arthur Pen... what?" Dr. Sevarious laughed. "Are you seriously saying you are King Arthur?"

"I am indeed, knave... or sorcerer be you, I am prepared to resist or offer what ransom you will have... for my release."

"Actually there is a small task I am wishing you to accomplish... for if you are really King Arthur."

"Do you doubt my word?"

"It would explain a great deal."

"No sire! He's evil!" Grief shouted. "Don't listen to him! Goliath said..."

"Dear me, you know Goliath?" Dr. Sevarious sighed. "That is most unfortunate... and you, and English Gargoyle too! It would be a shame to loose such a prize specimen."

"What is your price?" Arthur snapped.

"Oh a simple quest, your Majesty," Dr. Sevarious laughed, mocking him. "Namely slaying a dragon."

"You know of the beast?"

"Do I! My er... knights were attempting to slay it when you barged in."

"Tis my apology if it were their quest... but the lady woman with me was endangered."

"And that is another matter. The rescue of the fair maiden," Sevarious laughed. "She is known to me, and I wish her safe return."

"But why hold my noble knight captive?" Arthur demanded.

"My dear King we live in skeptical times. Call it incentive. With him as hostage you dare not fail. For even now he is infected with a disease that only the death of the beast will cure, for he was scratched with the Dragon's claws."

"Don't trust him sire!"

"I have little choice," Arthur muttered, eyes narrowing. "Where am I to find the Dragon?"

"You must wait till my Knights summon you to join the battle. Even now they are readying themselves to engage it."

"Then I shall," Arthur gritted, even though he knew it was a pack of lies. He would bide his time well.

"Of course I wouldn't dream of letting you go without your precious sword," Sevarious laughed, as he placed the weapon to one side. "But you wouldn't think of rushing out whilst your friend is under my watchful spell."

With a final leer, he snapped his fingers to the two suited technicians. Griff and Arthur watched as Dr. Sevarious shot them a final smirk. The door slammed too behind him.

Griff slowly tossed his head in the direction of the two technicians. A blonde woman, and a stocky man pulled the straps across both subjects more tightly. Griff winced as the straps seemed to cut into his chest. "Rather tight spot, eh, Sire?"

"Tight indeed. Would that these knaves know the cutting of these strange ropes, Arthur returned, and gave a quick glance in the direction of Excalibur.

"Ah yes Sire that they don't know. Hey do you mind! Must I be trussed up like last nights dinner?" he asked them. Griff peered past them to see King Arthur slowly reaching with his gauntlet. Ever so quickly he scraped its edge against he strap.

"You're staying put, birdy," the blonde jeered.

"This isn't cricket you know," Griff quipped. "I mean, your boss would hate to loose such a prime specimen and all, but wouldn't he mind awfully if I was... er... damaged? This does tend to muss my feathers."

"Shut up and sit still," the gravely voiced one hissed.

"I insist! I'm not all that well... in fact... cough cough... I think I'm a bit feverish."

"Give me a break," both of them exchanged a glance. By now Arthur's one strap was nearly cut through, and he could just about reach across to the other arm, and fumble at the clasp.

Griff screeched, throwing up his wings as feathers flew. "Shut up you birdbrain!" the technician grumbled.

"I demand to be set free! I'm getting claustrophobic! Call the humane society!"

"Gimme the tranq!" cried the blonde, as she reached for a small pistol.

"I somehow doubt you'd succeed," Griff laughed. There came a solid meaty thud as her partner crumpled to the floor. She spun about to see Arthur, in full plate mail with Excalibur drawn high over his head.

"Hey... wait a minute."

"Thou dost present me with a problem, milady. I am not to raise my hand against a woman... even if she be armed."

"Looks like you're outta luck."

"But that doesn't prevent me from doing this," Arthur laughed, as her gun crashed out of her hand with a blow from the flat of his weapon. A second blow landed smartly on her rump.

"You..."

Arthur gave a second swat to her posterior, then swung in a fierce chop that sliced cleanly through Griff's bonds. The gargoyle leapt to his feet, grabbing the blonde quickly in his claws.

"Let me go you parakeet! Hey... you hit me!"

"One is not below spanking a naughty wench however, foolish enough to be in the service of an evil sorcerer..." Arthur grinned smartly as Griff secured her wrists with a length of strange white labeling tape. Arthur sheathed Excalibur, and knelt by the body of her fallen comrade. With a grunt he hefted the man onto the table, securing him with the remains of the straps.

"Now... the way out, or you'll join your friend," Griff said to the woman, his eyes blazing brightly.

"Jerks," she snapped, before a warning look from the griffin took the words from her mouth.

* * *

The Dragon's Lair:

Within sleep she moved. Under her cheek she felt cool smoothness, like a textured bit of metal space blanket. A rumbling sounded under her ear. Mary opened her eyes to see herself lying on the Dragon's stomach, a claw gently holding her in place as the creature slept half on its side, on its back. It was full size again. Did it happen or was it some odd dream? The long neck curved around as the tail arced in an odd semicircle. Long wings were folded close in the space. Marianne lay a gentle kiss on the scaly stomach, spreading wide her legs as she caressed its chest with her whole body. Curling onto her side she settled under its talon again. In sleep a large wing draped over its side, covering her like a tarp against warmth.

Small rocks pelted her from above. The sounds of explosions shook the air, just outside. She could hear voices. Was it some sort of rescue party?

Sapphire eyes snapped open. A low growl sounded in the Dragon's throat. "Orlorin!" she called to it. "Wait don't do anything!"

But already it was beginning to move the stone from the entrance. Daylight flooded Mary's eyes with its sharp light. Cries and exalted shouts sounded at the cavern mouth. Marianne gripped her sword, and rushed to see.

The Dragon swiftly moved out into the morning sun, a low loud growl echoing in the cave behind. It can sure move when it has to, Mary thought as she rushed after it. Morning sun glinted off two flying specs that fired upon the Dragon. Marianne drew in her breath sharply when she saw it was two humanoids in glittering metal costumes. They buzzed about like bothersome flies, just before the Dragon's face as it reared up.

"Come on you beast! Let's see what you're made of!" laughed the male voice. "I'm in the mood to squash a lizard!" laughed the female. Jackal and Hyena! It must be them! For the Gargoyle's description of them. Mary saw the bright gleam in their eyes as Jackal flew towards the Dragon's neck. Angrily a wing batted him back. With a nasty laugh Hyena flew in next, long sharp claws gleaming as she slashed at its shoulder.

"No!" Mary screamed, a sudden protectiveness coming over her. For she did not see a monster, but a rare creature taunted and assaulted with no provocation.

"George, I summon thine aid!" she cried aloud. The power rushed through her, and once again she stood in full armor.

Already the Dragon flailed and batted at the two flying forms. Snorting and growling it reared. Hyena's claws raked three crimson strokes upon its shoulder. With a roar, the Dragon singed its flame blast past her.

Jackal flew around and around its shoulders, holding a gun in one hand and an odd container in the other. "Don't kill it, sis! I need a sample "

"You'll have all the sample you need when I've carved this overgrown crocodile!" Hyena snarled. "I'll teach you to singe a lady!"

"You're no lady!" Marianne shouted, rushing out to meet them.

"Well looky what we have here? First a Dragon, and a Knight in Shining armor?" Hyena laughed.

Jackal flew forth, lying his container by the open bleeding wound that Hyena's claws had made on the Dragon's neck. Angrily a blast of fire flared inches from Jackal. He laughed, levitating just beyond the flame's range.

"Let's wrap this up!" Jackal said, his hand dropping off and a strange barbed instrument appearing. A phut of compressed air launched a cable across the Dragon's neck. Roaring, it swatted Jackal like some annoying fly. He crashed into the nearest tree, leaving a sizeable dent in the bark.

"You'll pay for that, monster!" Hyena screamed. Her laser blasted as she flew straight at the Dragon. Fire roared past her, barely missing her. Long claws glistened as she orbited its massive sapphire bulk. Marianne rushed out, to the fallen Jackal. Quickly he had jumped back to his golden boots. He raised his weapon, aiming to fire as Hyena had the Dragon distracted. On its haunches it batted at her, fire spilling in long crimson tongues. Her sword flashed, cleaving his gun in two. As he turned to face, his foot flew towards her. She blocked with the Shield of St. George. Her sword drew a sizable gash on his arm, but instead of blood, hydraulic fluid dripped to the ground.

"What are you? Man or machine?" Marianne asked in wonder. That sparking from his arm was much like circuitry.

"An upgrade!" Jackal laughed. "And you're sadly in the wrong time, you rustbucket!"

She noted the test tube in his one hand that he placed in a hollow compartment in one arm. Hyena laughed endlessly as she continued to taunt the Dragon. Staying just head of his slashing talons, she wove back and forth. Mary swung Wavedancer, an arc of power spinning towards the cyborg. Energy crackled around Hyena as she felt the full force of the stunning magic. A long dragon tail snaked out, swatting Hyena in a whipcracking boom. She flew out of sight.

Jackal snarled to face Mary. Sword whirling in one hand she kept her shield before her. His laser weapons zinged harmlessly off her shield and armor. Another swinging stroke slashed against his chest plate. Through the gash she saw the crackle of circuitry.

"You can't slay me," he laughed. "I'm not some mythical monster you can spear with a lance..."

Then a hail of lightening crashed down from above. A dozen gizmos popped out of their respective sockets as his tongue popped from his mouth. The rockets engaged, firing as he wildly took off and spiraled away into the trees. Marianne shuddered, sniffing a distinct odor of mingled hair and burning wires. Yet it was far enough away from the lady and the dragon. Too far for Marianne.

"Orlorin! We must stop them!" Mary cried. "Do you know what was in that tube he had?"

The Dragon's head lowered to her, cocked to one side as if to listen. "They took a sample of your blood! I bet a pound to a penny that they are working for Sevarious! And they want more than just a trophy!" The head withdrew, arcing around. She shrieked as the muzzle bumped her back, the neck lifting under her backside as she was thrown onto its neck.

"You want me to ride you?" she gasped as the claw positioned her in place where neck met mighty shoulders. Sure enough the sapphire dragon scampered quickly, wing extending to their full length. There was a shudder as she felt the Dragon heave, hindquarters swaying as it gathered the energy to pounce. With a mighty leap it soared into he sky. "Oh no!" she cried, squeezing her eyes shut as she almost lost grip on her sword. She willed it away to its scabbard as her sword hand gripped the massive ridges on its neck. Mighty wings beat as the wind whistled in her ears. Under her the earth stretched like a massive chessboard of fields. They circled around, and around, chasing the smoke that curled up from the trees far below.

She heard a cackle from Hyena, flying ahead in a golden blaze. From the trees rose Jackal, few signs of damage on his body as he dropped into formation beside her. They were talking to each other animatedly. From what Mary could hear in the distance she heard something about DNA.

"Well, do we follow them, or fry them?" Mary breathed as she brought her face close to the Dragon's neck.

A blast of lightening shot forth from its mouth, streaking into the skies. The very air sizzled with the force of its power. Between Jackal and hyena the circuit was completed. Seven strokes passed as they gave their united cry of alarm. Circuits buzzed with additional power, their gizmos clicking wildly. Two golden specs whirled and spiraled out of control in opposing directions.

"Good grief," Marianne muttered, still clinging tightly to the blue scales for dear life. "That's enough power to light one heck of a Christmas tree!"

Blue sparks arced from amidst the Dragon's long fangs. There came a loud bellow of triumph, sounding into a trumpeting laugh. Still she caught her breath, wind whistling through her armored helmet as she felt the laugh reach up through its shoulders into her own torso. Soon she found her own high-pitched voice blending with that of the Sapphire. Never had she felt so full of the thrill of battle, tempered with the feeling that she was protected no matter its outcome. This Dragon would not fail her, she sensed.

"Onward to glory we go," she could not resist shouting at the top of her lungs. A low roar buoyed up her battle cry from the throat of the being. Glorious like a trumpet sounding across hills and forests.

* * *

The Lance and Dragon, Council Meeting:

"I assure you that this situation is under control!" Dr. Sevarious laughed.

"What is that thing?" the mayor demanded. "We've heard rumors of your genetic experiments! Is that creature a spawn of your science?"

"You read too many tabloids," Dr. Sevarious laughed.

"It's utterly ridiculous," Morewood-Smythe broke in. "Dragons?"

"No it is not Arthur!" Lydia cut him off. "I saw it with my own eyes! There is something out there, and it acted intelligently…"

"A story told by two imaginative children, and you're going to believe it?" asked Sevarious with a laugh. "Out of the mouths of babes?"

"My daughter said she saw a dragon. And my children may fantasize, but they do tell the truth under such stress… " Anne spoke. "She has no reason to lie to me…"

"You must admit there are some creatures such as bigfoot, and the Loch Ness monster, that have enough credible witnesses…" Lydia Duane broke in. "You are a scientist yourself, Dr. Sevarious. Can you as a geneticist deny the possibility such creatures exist?"

"You are all reasonable people," Dr. Sevarious turned to the Mayor. "And this is a most frightening situation. If there really is some species of creature unknown to science… why not investigate it, if what Ms. Duane says is true…"

"There have been sightings of such Dragons centuries ago," Anne Pricefield said. "In legends. It is suggested that was the reason this church was built, as a shrine to St. George by the locals, for the threat of dragons…"

"Old legends have a grain of truth," said Lydia. "I have seen it myself. When we excavated the Scrolls of Merlin last year, in the Cave, most extraordinary things started to happen. And upon Easter island… Arthur you must admit there was the most extraordinary evidence of…"

"We met an actual extraterrestrial," Arthur Morewood-Smythe coughed.

"Alien beings?" laughed Sevarious. "That is most interesting indeed…"

"Maybe so," the Mayor folded his arms. "But what has that got to do with us? If there is a dangerous animal lurking in the forest, we aren't safe…"

"Which is why you must let Nightstone Industries capture it and study it. As a good will gesture for your town. We are equipped with the most modern DNA sequencing equipment. Even now my people have taken samples of blood from alleged sightings…"

"So you have seen the creature!" Lydia pointed a finger in his face. "Why deny it?"

"I simply didn't wish to alarm the good citizens," Dr. Sevarious smoothly refuted. "After all being a good scientist I had hoped to gather more evidence…"

"So what do we do?" asked the Mayor. "Round up people to help you hunt it down?"

"I wouldn't advise that. My company is fully willing to help deal with the situation. All I need is more time to assess the problem…"

"And what is it going to cost us?" asked Anne.

"Oh, I'm sure your council would be willing to come to a negotiation," said Sevarious smoothly.

"Let's talk tonight," the Mayor nodded.

"But what about the renovations to the Church?" asked Anne.

"You will see to that, and we shall see to this…" the Mayor said. "But I ask that all work be suspended till the situation is under control. No one is to leave their homes…"

Arthur moved quietly amidst the trees. How difficult would it be to hunt a dragon? For fortunately he had Excalibur with him. That strange wizard he didn't trust him at all. Not while Sir Griff was in possible danger. He'd left his friend in the forest to wait till sunset. He had to enlist aid. Perhaps those of the Village would be willing to lend a hand.

Softly he moved his way back. It was only a bit further. Suddenly a loud clear bellow shook the air above him. Wind whistled as a black shadow eclipsed the sun, and Arthur shielded his eyes to peer up at it. In an instant it was gone. The sound of thunder split the air at its retreat. From the distance he heard the buzz of a helicopter, that strange flying windmill headed towards the town.

Pulling his trenchcoat over his armor, Arthur walked into town. No one walked the streets. Not even one child or dog milled about long stone driveways before each house. In the Town Square the upright monument stood as it had for perhaps several centuries, the Church of St. George across the square from the Green Dragon pub, or the local bed and breakfast.

However the grass leaned under the assault of noisy battering wind. Slowly the flying windmill descended into a grassy spot just to the side of the monument. Arthur rushed across the open road towards the Green Dragon, hoping not to be spotted. For the words upon the great snarling beast spelled out Nightstone. He had no desire for the Wizard to see him here. Instead of the fool quest he'd sent him on.

"It is a freak of nature, that I intend to save you from with my Science. In my hand I hold a vial that may mean the difference between life and death. If you let Nightstone build its new factory here, I promise many more miracles."

"Nay," says one of the old people in the council. "For even now our Champion has arrived to fight the Dragon..."

"St. George you say? Who is promising you new jobs? Him or me?" Sevarious asks.

Arthur comes up, angry. "How dare you insult a noble Saint!" he cries.

"And who are you?"

"One who has tasted the disease your company gives. And one who has seen the Lady fight evil! She carries the very standard of George himself! She will stop the Dragon, not this modern filth!"

"Clearly you are a bit... excited."

"I saw the Dragon being fought by the Lady!" claims another person. "But the dragon carried her off."

"What?" Arthur asks. "Where?"

"The old cave in the mountains. The Dragon's Grotto, called Merlin's Cave..."

"Then I shall confront it myself!"

"And who are you?"

"Arthur Pendragon," Arthur said. A low murmur came from the people. Disbelief spread like a puddle radiating outwards.

"Do you seriously expect us to believe that?" Sevarious laughed.

"I am he," Arthur lowered his head. "Come back from the Hollow Hill."

Lydia Duane suddenly spoke up, "I believe him! He is King Arthur!"

"If you're King Arthur, where is Excalibur, and your Knights of the round table?" laughed the Mayor.

Reaching at his hip, Arthur withdrew his blade. A spark of light seemed to jump from the mythryl steel. In one smooth movement he held it aloft before the throng. "I do not lie, my gentle people," he said softly. A hush came over the jeering crowd. The Mayor choked his own wittiness in his throat. Arthur's blue eyes traced across the room.

"And we are in a moment of dire peril. For a Dragon seeks to attack your fair town. And I have been sent to stop it, and rescue St. George's champion from its power. Who among you would help me?"

"I would sire!" came a clear voice. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as a Griffin strode among them, to kneel before Arthur. "Count me in!"

"This is one of my noble knights, wizard," Arthur turned to the Mayor. "May I present Sir Griff."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance sir," Griff stood up, and took the astonished Mayor's hand. Lydia Duane strode up to Arthur, a smile upon her face. Griff took her hand, kissing it as he dropped a bow.

"Also a pleasure to see you again ma'am."

"Lady Lydia, you have our royal gratitude for believing," Arthur Pendragon bowed to her. She blushed slightly. Morewood Smythe felt a pang of jealousy. "And there is another who quests for Merlin is there not?" Arthur asked, catching a glimpse of Morewood Smythe.

"Er yes... quite," said Smythe, moving up to stand beside Lydia. He slipped his arm around her waist. "We only just a few years ago found the Scrolls of Merlin!"

"This is all very cozy," Sevarious broke in. "But even if you are King Arthur, what could you possibly do to save the day? Kill the dragon yourself?"

"If need be," Arthur shrugged. "Now who is with me?"

"I am," Morewood Smythe and Lydia chimed in. Several others did as well, even the Mayor who was not sure if he was going potty with all this nonsense. Something in Arthur's presence struck him as regal, a charisma and command few dared not question.


	5. Love or Duty?

_Disclaimer: The Characters of Gargoyles are property of Disney. Marianne Ellis is property of me, Trynia Merin, as are the characters of the town of Raveloe. Chas Quin Cassidy and related magical items like Wavedancer are property of Beth Strong a.k.a. Javagoddess, which I use with her permission. I want to thank her for her help in developing the ideas in this story. It is not intended to harm Gargoyles in any way._

Written 12/12/99 by Trynia Merin/Janeth Rhian

* * *

**Part 5: The Enemy's Lair**

A strange sight awaited the colorful group. Already the sun had set an hour hence, the way lit by electric torches and car headlights. Arthur clung to the seat of Lydia's Land Rover, Arthur Morewood Smythe crammed into the seat behind them with the Mayor, and the town Vicar.

Dr. Sevarious' sport utility van trundled after the jeeps and land rovers.

"Look! Even now St. George's champion confronts the Dragon," called Arthur. For at that moment, Marianne Ellis held close to the Dragon's neck, struggling as the two golden warriors rained their fire against them. Eagerly the crowd gasped with amazement.

"Oh no," Marianne gasped, taking in the encroaching line of silhouettes. Vehicles were left behind, as citizens grabbed rifles, bows, and other odd weapons in hand. Arthur stood at the front, brandishing Excalibur aloft. The blade gleamed with its own eldritch light. So long it had been since he commanded an army.

Among them was Dr. Sevarious, gleefully rubbing his hands together. "Let the battle be joined," Arthur shouted as he noticed the gleaming forms of Jackal and Hyena.

"That one's mine!" Sir Griff shouted as he took to wing. Arthur raced out, waving Excalibur aloft as he faced the sapphire bulk.

"Arthur no!" Marianne cried as Orlorin reared. She was catapulted backwards off its neck. Tumbling she rolled and lay quite still.

"Knave, prepare to face the once and Future king!" Arthur shouted as he rushed to the rescue. Marianne moaned as she felt Arthur helping her to stand. Suddenly laserfire hit them, glancing off the armor with a burning sizzle of air.

"Behind you!" Marianne shouted. Arthur spun, Excalibur whirling in a bright wheel. A hale of arcing elffire corkscrewed up towards Jackal, sizzling against golden cybernetics.

"Nice try King, but no cigar!" Jackal laughed. Yelling, Arthur brandished Excalibur as he charged.

"Fight the Dragon!" the people took up the chant as Marianne turned to the sapphire.

"What do I do?" she asked, moving up with Wavedancer in hand.

Within her mind she heard a low voice, _Let's give them what they want fer now. Ye must fight me…_

"But..." she stammered, as the Dragon advanced upon her, its claw raised high. She swung desperately with Wavedancer. The weapon passed right through the claw, not drawing any blood. Yet the Dragon let out a fierce bellow as if it had mortally wounded him. The lights went on in her mind. If it was a sham, why should they know?

"Have at thee, monster!" she shouted, charging towards its chest. A roar as the Dragon's tail swatted her playfully aside. Oohs and ahs shot from the crowd as she staggered to her feet. With a roar and whoosh of steam a cloud enveloped Marianne. She knew it was just smoke, without heat, even so it drew a cry of fear from the throng. Meanwhile Griff slammed into Hyena, pushing her earthwards. She crashed, groaning as the Griffin pinned her.

"Get off me!" she shouted.

"Not till you behave," Griff laughed.

Arthur's next shot connected with Hyena, silencing her. A stray blast of electricity from the Dragon sizzled into Jackal. This time he felt his systems short out as he crumpled to the ground. Both mercenaries went out like lights.

Marianne saw the wink of a blue eye as she charged once more, Wavedancer held high. "Creag a tuire!" she screamed, leaping as her sword cut through its neck. The Dragon crumpled, bellowing in a whoosh of fire. It lay quite still.

"You have done it!" Arthur shouted, turning to Marianne, who stood with her blade held above the Dragon's neck.

"No. It spared me. I will not kill it."

"You must. It is a menace!" cried the townspeople.

"Have you lost all reason?" Arthur asked, as Marianne withdrew her sword. The blue eye opened, glancing up at her as the dragon lay quite still. He advanced, Excalibur gleaming as he brandished it.

"No. You will not touch it," she says. "It is not a menace. That man is..."

Arthur wondered why she was pointing so fiercely towards Sevarious. Her finger trembled with the fury that wracked her whole frame. She was a time bomb waiting to explode into action.

"He is a wizard but..." Arthur responded. Marianne stood before him, blocking his blade with Wavedancer.

"No, I won't let you kill it... I have fought it and triumphed."

"Slay the beast!" cried the crowd.

"You must," Arthur said, his voice low as his eyes grew cold. Rather roughly he elbowed her aside, rasing Excalibur above his head. Something cannoned into his midriff, knocking the King off his armored feet. Slowly he climbed upon them again to see Marianne advancing on him with drawn weapon.

"If I must fight you I will!" she hissed. "But you will not slay the dragon!"

Suddenly she was gripped from behind as Griff held her. "Let me go!"

"The lass is bewitched by the warm, surely. Hold her, Sir Griff," Arthur said. "I will lead the attack."

"Stop!" Marianne cried, kicking as she squirmed out of Griff's grip. A huge claw plucked Griff off of her, tossing him aside like a stray sheet of notepaper. Around her enclosed the other claw, gripping firmly as it lifted her nearly twenty feet into the air.

Sir Griff shook his dazed head, somewhere among the trees. A dozen people filed behind Arthur, who shouted, "Release her from your spell fowl monster, or die!"

"Don't provoke it!" Marianne cried, as she squirmed in the Dragon's grasp. "It means no harm!"

Suddenly a strange mist shot forth from the Dragon's mouth. Wreathing and misting around the people, they crumpled unconscious to the ground. Arthur coughed, batting the mist away with Excalibur. "Stop!" Marianne shouted at the Dragon. "Orlorin, don't do this!"

She half wondered how she even knew it had a name! It was instinctive, having come to her from the depths of sleep. Such insanity! How could she possibly... but on some strange level she had connected with it those hours they shared in its lair.

"Griff! To me!" Arthur cried, coughing into the mist that separated the dragon from his savage blows.

"You see!" Dr. Sevarious forced himself into the Mayor's face. "The beast will kill you all! But I have a weapon against it!"

"What can you do?" the Mayor asked.

"In my hand I have a biochemical agent. My scientists have developed it to use against parasites such as rodents and lizards. It is developed from the blood samples procured by my employees! I entreat you, let me use it to stop the dragon!" Arthur coughed as he batted aside the mist. Sevarious snapped his fingers, and two suited employees slipped a breathing mask around his face and shoulders. In his hand he held the vial. As the mist wafted, people retreated from the scene. Flashes of light were visible as Arthur's sword swung left and right.

"That Dragon will be taken care of," Dr. Sevarious said before vanishing into the mist. "If the maiden will not subdue it, I shall with Science. And it can make a most valuable contribution."

"Back everyone!" the Mayor shouted. Just then Lydia and Arthur moved up to the front of the crowd, trying to hold everyone back.

Sevarious swam through the mist, batting as he saw flashes of electricity. Above him arched the Dragon's neck, showering fire left and right. Arthur and Griff desperately leapt out of the way of the massive arcing tail. Totally unnoticed, Sevarious rounded to the Dragon's flank with upraised canister in his gloved hand.

"Come any closer to it, and you die," Mary grits. "You gave it a sickness with your genetic disease... and I will help it."

"If you do, this town will lynch you."

"Let them try," Mary growled. She held Wavedancer in both hands now, before her waist. Arthur raised his own sword, lifting it in a stunning arc.

Excalibur crashed against Wavedancer, a mighty flare of power sparking into their faces. The force thrust them apart. Marianne shook her head, leaping to her feet. Arthur staggered under the next crushing blow. "I have no desire to fight you!"

"Don't you see Arthur!" Mary shouted. "This dragon is like the Gargoyles! It is a misunderstood creature! To kill it would be murder!"

"Sire, maybe we are wrong! This Dragon could have killed the Maiden. And she is alive!" Sir Griff shouted. For in the course of the fight he'd noticed that Marianne had remained untouched by the dragon. Almost as it went out of its way to protect her.

"We must subdue it!" Sevarious shouted, advancing upon the fighting pair. A wall of fire cascaded down from above, cutting him off in a wall of flame from the two combatants. Still the Dragon surged its power.

"You would destroy it with your science!" Mary cries. She holds up the Shield of St. George before her to shield herself and Orlorin from any future harm.

"Are you or are you not George's champion?" Arthur asked her, his sword held back.

"Isn't it a knight's mission to protect the weak and defenseless. To not harm the innocent?" Mary asked him. "This Dragon is innocent! It gave me mercy! I won't kill it! You'll have to kill me if you want to kill him!"

"I do not wish to harm you," Arthur backed away. "But as long as the Dragon lives..."

"Please, your Majesty," Marianne said, Wavedancer held before her to meet Excalibur. "My sword passed through it, showing its innocence. If you do the same, Excalibur will prove his innocence."

Arthur glanced at his blade, thinking for a moment. Shouldering himself, he strode forth into the abating mist with drawn sword. Flames danced their reflections upon Excalibur's blade. A quick swipe later the blade passed clean through the Dragon's claw.

"This Dragon is not evil!" Arthur gasped. Marianne breathed a sigh of relief. Neither noticed the sudden movement behind the flickering wall of flame that slowly died down. Arthur lowered his weapon, laying it before him as he regarded the dragon.

"So it appears I was mistaken," Arthur raised his eyes to meet the two sapphire pools. The Dragon's muzzle extended forwards to stop a few feet from Marianne's shoulder.

"I will deal with it. One way or another!" Dr. Sevarious laughed. "Behold the power of modern science!"

He hurled the vial through the wall of flame. There came a tinkle of glass as the dart crashed against the Dragon's muzzle. Marianne and Arthur spun around in unison, weapons drawn. A low roar and cough shuddered through the Dragon as it snarled. A blast of fire scattered both armored ones in two directions.

"What sorcery is this?" Arthur gasped, rolling to his feet.

"A biochemical agent!" Marianne gasped, her eyes widening at the site of the Dragon shuddering. Wildly it thrashed, convulsing as its muscles fired at once. Sparks of blue lightening arced between its gaping jaws. A low guttural moan stabbed at her heart.

"Sevarious!" Marianne screamed, leaping through the wall of flame. She rolled over, her foot slamming into Sevarious midsection. He crumpled like a cheap doll. Slowly he tried to scramble away, Marianne hurling herself headlong onto him. A sickening crunch sounded as her fist contacted with his nose. Red blood oozed down pallid flesh.

"I take it you're not thrilled," he actually quipped, backing away from her. "I'm rather disappointed in you. A rational scientist acting like an impetuous child... where is your sense of discovery?"

"I would kill you here and now if I wasn't a Christian," she gasped, laying the blade against his neck. "But it is too good for you."

Arthur stood at her side, shaking his head. "You are fortunate charlatan, that she is merciful. I myself would not be so generous..."

"Watch him," Marianne choked. "I must help the dragon... there might still be time..."

"You're too late, Dr. Ellis," Sevarious crowed. "The biochemical agent will soon polish him off. I'm afraid it's only a matter of minutes..."

"Silence knave!" Arthur pressed Excalibur's point a bit into his neck. "Or you will join it!"

Around them the mist blew away in the quickening wind. Marianne cradled the Dragon's muzzle in her arms, slowly singing to it. Strangely the words flowed from her lips as she caressed its muzzle, Wavedancer passing over the nose and throat. Just why and what she wanted seemed so elusive. She didn't care about the waking and stretching throng that slowly enclosed around them.

A blue eye winked at her, a low rumbling purr vibrating the scales beneath her hand. "You're going to be all right," she soothed, stroking it between the eyes. Sir Griff shook his head, coming to stand by his king. Sevarious trembled at the sword point that threatened to move an inch closer if he dared move falsely.

"Go in peace," Marianne whispered to the Dragon. "I will not let any here harm you..."

"If you are St. George's champion, why do you not kill the dragon?" came a voice. She glanced up to see a white collared figure in black, the local Vicar of the village. He was a middle aged man, face just beginning to crease with age. Blue eyes held shock and wisdom as he dared approach Arthur and Griff. Automatically both knelt in respect, Arthur making the sign of the Cross at his passing.

"Do you not wear the standard of Andrew, and carry the shield?" asked the Vicar, pointing to her shield upon her wrist.

"I... cannot say, Father," said she. "Because that dragon was evil. This one is good. And are we not taught to hate the sin, not the sinner? Dragons are capable of great good as well as evil. As are all God's creatures. Man himself is capable of great evil..."

"But it is a monster," the Vicar spoke.

"So are lions, and we revere them for their strength. A Dragon is worthy of Mercy... if it is a noble beast... is it not?" Mary appealed to Arthur.

"But you carry his shield! Are you not a Dragon slayer and protector..." came the voice of the Mayor. How was it he had accepted this so readily? Eyes fell upon her as she felt the whole world watching her.

Marianne looked to the stars overhead. What was that distant shimmering she saw just before her? Not steam from the Dragon's muzzle? Stepping away from the Dragon she strode out to the thickening in the air. A wind ruffled her hair, as she pulled her helmet off and drank in the night breezes. A faint voice called her name, growing in intensity.

"It is not so," says a voice. A figure came forth from the rip, riding astride a white stallion. His lance carried high as he nodded to King Arthur. The Vicar dropped to his knees, crossing himself as Marianne did so.

"St. George," Marianne despaired. "I don't know what to do!"

"You know child," he said, lance tipped towards her. There was a bright flash as the lance materialized into her grasp. Within her throat she choked, hefting its weight that sang into her soul. She glanced from St. George, to the prostrate Sapphire dragon. Then back again.

"I cannot do it! I cannot kill it!" she wailed. The lance dropped from her hand. A silent hush fell over the crowd, for all they had seen was the appearance of a bright lance in the armored figure's hand. They did not see what she beheld.

"If this is what it means to carry your standard, I cannot let an ideal contradict what I feel is right in my heart! I am not a good choice for your champion, and I'm sorry. Perhaps... there is another besides me more... suited to do what you will..."

"Child, would you throw aside my gift if I myself commanded you to slay the beast?" he asked.

"Yes, I am so sorry, curse me. But it is wrong... for hate and ignorance. You told me to deal with it and I did..."

"Then this is my judgement," St. George's voice came, with stern steeliness in her ears. Mary took the steely edge far within, and set herself for reprimand.

"Hold there," came yet another voice that made her heart set on edge. A voice of power that shimmered with blue and silver tendrils. A voice that made England's National saint silent.

"There will be no reprimand nor judgment," spoke the voice, still and soft. "She will not raise a hand to slay the being. For how can you expect her to contradict her nature?"

"Those who ask for my protection cried out to me in their prayers for intercession," St. George responded. He glanced up to another figure that slowly formed out of the moonlight and night air. Clad in long robes the bearded face regarded Marianne with a look of infinite sadness. A hint of Scots burr mingled with Aramaic in its speech.

"And you know even a Saint can be mistaken," came Andrew's voice.

"The Dragon I slew was evil," said he, looking again to Mary.

"But Excalibur revealed the Dragon here is innocent..." Marianne said.

"By her actions she has proven its innocence," spoke the calm clear voice of King Arthur. "I myself have seen it to be so!"

"You have shown compassion and mercy to one of the creatures of Creation. The children were not harmed by its fury, and their innocence had seen what others had missed," St. Andrew whispered.

"Then... she has redeemed it so," George's voice answered reluctantly.

"Do not be angry with me," Marianne whispered. "For I only sought what was in my heart to be true."

St George reigned his white charger towards Marianne. The armored figure slipped off its mount, his gauntleted hand extended to Marianne's. She felt the hand lay upon her bare head, soothing power washing over her. Back on her wrist was the shield with its red cross.

"So it would seem. And this was test for us both." said her Protector and Patron. "Go in peace, to love and serve. Carry my standard before you, and you will not fail. Remain true to your heart and principles, my child. For you are she whom I have chosen as my Champion. And it is your destiny that you and I are such bonded in spirit."

She felt the energy blur and merge as the Saint vanished, a bit deflated. Then she turned her face to the blur of light that was St. Andrew. "Why did you not appear to me before?"

"That is not my way," said he of Scotland. "You are in my hands, as you were in his. And your heart lies with the ancient ways. Be transformed by them and be compassionate. For he whom you love was saved by your actions as of late?"

"You mean... Chas?"

"You will see him sooner than you think. And know your love has prevailed."

"But to which of you shall I listen?" she asked him.

"George shall guide and protect you, as shall I always. He holds no permanent anger for you for defiance. For he would rather have your true nature then serve him with an unwilling heart. But know that to question is not forbidden, for the Author of all things granted you reason. And your heart knows its truth. Be transformed by this revelation. And know that my love for you is strong, you who are as a daughter of Scotland as well as that of England..."

Marianne felt strangeness coming over her armor. As she looked to the tabard of St. Andrew upon her chest she noted the odd change in the cross upon her shield. For it was no longer the simple cross of bars. But a far more elaborate pattern indeed, as it split into a cross of nine smaller ones. Superimposed upon each little cross was an odd spiral design. And her armor took on a much different ornateness. Her armor seemed to lighten in weight, a much easier and lighter shirt of chain mail replacing the cumbersome plate. She rose, facing the group again.

"What about Sevarious?" she asked Andrew.

"His sins will be punished in due time... even now he has eluded the guard of those allies you hold dear," came the answer. She glanced wildly, noticing that Jackal and Hyena were nowhere to be found. Nor was Dr. Sevarious! Somehow they had slipped through their grasp!

"Now, I take my leave. Go in peace... daughter of Scotland..." his last whisper came as he vanished.

"He himself has told me," Marianne lifted her head again. The Vicar had all but passed out, his eyes wide in silent communion. Dr. Sevarious had strangely vanished, at the same time the Saint had appeared.

King Arthur came to Mary, with Griff at his side. "You took a big risk, Milady," he said. "For the legend praises him as the slayer of the Dragon. But he now knows that Dragons are also ones of that which the Maker made. And can be capable of great good as well as great evil."

"I know... but sometimes people can take legends and twist them to suit their purpose, like Dr. Sevarious," Mary sighed. Strangely the people stayed put, still not sure if what they were seeing was real or not.

"Truly St. George himself does speak to you, as did that of another." the priest announced. "But how odd that this is the turn of events..."

An even stranger turn of events startled them, for the Dragon rose onto its feet once more. Everyone backed away, their rifled raised to fire. Yet Arthur's gaze stopped them with its caution.

"I for one am glad that you have chosen to spare my life," echoed a deep rich tenor within Marianne's ears. To all others the Dragon merely let a series of organ tones, soothing and eerily otherworldly. The effect riveted all to the spot.

"Speak, and you will have whatever you wish... for it is within my power to grant certain magic."

"I only want the man I love back," Marianne admitted. "For without him I am not complete. Even though he left in a jealous fit... I miss him, and know he was foolish... as was I."

"And what else do ye hide on yer tongue?"

"I know that I have the strength to say no. When my principles are conflicted."

"I am sure he will be very pleased with you, and most sorry for letting you slip away from him," the Dragon says. "For the man who loves you must be very fortunate indeed."

"I doubt you could grant this boon," she sighed.

"He's not as far as ye think," the Dragon responded, with a wink of a very blue eye. Gently the muzzle of the Dragon brushed against her with the most delicate of touches. In return she scratched it under the chin, his long tongue caressing her cheek with the softness she so badly missed.

"Why do I feel like I know you better than I think?" she asked the Dragon.

"Trust yer instincts, Mary," came its answer. Long wings spanned, fanning the night air in a gentle breeze. It hunched down, massive leg muscles prepared to launch it into the night sky.

"Wait, will I ever see you again?" she cried, running up to it.

"Sooner than ye think... Musha," it called back, powerful legs thrusting it skywards.

Mary blinked in amazement. No one called her that except... except Chas! Could it be? No, she thinks. It's too crazy.

"What the hell just happened?" the Mayor asked, shaking his head. Dozens of people pointed and gasped in the night, fingers indicating a distant shape crossing over the silvery daisy field of stars.

"It's a long story," the Vicar sighed. Lydia Duane and her colleagues came running, rubbing their eyes. Lucy and Tim struggled to keep up with their astonished mother.

"The Dragon flew away!" Lucy gleefully bubbled. Griff swept the little girl into his arms as she laughed.

* * *

The Lance and Dragon, that night:

It seemed as if the whole town crammed into the small pub that night. Rolicksome music pounded the air, performed by a live band that had just come to the small town. Around the rough wooden tables were crammed the Mayor, council, and several guests of honor.

"A toast to Marianne Ellis, the champion of St. George," the vicar raised his glass of Old Peculiar ale. Beside him the guest of honor blushed and lowered her head.

"That's laying it on a bit thick," she stammered out.

"You did save the day," Arthur Pendragon rested his hand upon hers. Still the townsfolk had a bit of trouble realizing he was really King Arthur. Most had accepted him for what he was without much question. He drank his own pint of local bitter next to the Mayor, who was at the head of one of the larger tables.

"But it's rather much to take in," Marianne said.

"Not every day that one has spoken personally to our Saint," the vicar laughed. As if it were a casual conversation.

"Here, here!" Lydia Duane laughed. Beside her were Arthur Morewood Smythe, and her sister Anne. Dozens of glasses clanked in unison, an equal number of imbibers sipping their respective drinks.

"And now let's have a good ol' time!" the Mayor laughed. Once the toast had been made, the small groups formed, heading towards the dartboard, pool table, and dance floor. Leaving Marianne with her small party.

"This whole situation was the oddest I have ever seen," Dr. Morewood-Smythe said, leaning back in his chair as he curled his hand around a pint of bitter.

"That's how I first reacted when the whole affair started," Marianne laughed softly, sipping her Guinness.

Lydia Duane stirred her gin and tonic, laughing, "And to think that you, King Arthur were here all this time... and we who have studied you our whole lives."

Shyly Arthur Pendragon swirling his wine, regarding her. "It is good to know so many remember my name," he said softly. "But I am not sure this strange world is quite ready to accept me again."

"You're a legend in our time, sire," Lydia Duane told him. "My whole life I've admired the legends, wanting to believe they were true... and here they are."

"Legends," Marianne muttered. "They seem to have an odd habit of springing up when you most doubt them."

"Oh, here comes the entertainment," Dr. Morewood Smythe said, touching Lydia Duane's hand to quiet her laughing.

Nearby the next band jigged into order. The gentle hum of an accordion shifted into that of a guitar. Mary's ears pricked up when she heard a fiddle suddenly coming into the mix. Quickly she glanced towards the front of the pub, to the golden radiance of the stage. Every eye fixed upon the fiddler, to watch his nimble fingers running up and down the bow.

Lydia sighed, as she appeared to be transfixed. Dr. Smythe coughed, nudging her as he noticed her eyes tracing over the fine lines of the musician's slender body. True he wore blue jeans and a loose shirt decorated with Celtic spirals, but those jeans had a rather nice fit across the thighs.

Two blue eyes glanced in their direction, and Marianne felt the heat flush into her face. All her fears and sadness tumbled through the gaze as her eyes raised to fix into his. The energy betwixt both observer and musician tingled Arthur and Lydia at their table.

She blushed as his set ends. And he goes to the bar for a drink; she comes alongside him, handing him a pint of bitter. "New to this town, stranger?" she asked him.

"Mary," he said with a smile. "Yer quite a celebrity here... are ye not?"

"Well, it wasn't how they say it was... I didn't really kill any dragons."

"Aye, I know," he says, a sparkle in his eyes as they turn green. "And that shows ye a greater hero yet."

"You're making me blush," she says. He sips his ale, and looks to her. She cannot stop her eyes from tracing up and down his well-muscled figure. Devoid of any fat, and oh so firm.

Anne's eyes fixed on Marianne as she noticed her friend alongside the fiddler. For a moment she felt a pang of jealousy. He was absolutely gorgeous!

"Hello there! Long time, no see," Lydia Duane laughed as she shook hands with Chas.

"Professor Duane! Pleasure t' see ye again lass! And how's Arthur? Misbehaving again?"

"Don't be silly," he laughed. "If anything we should ask you the same question!"

Arthur Pendragon inclined his head ot Chas, who also returned the gesture. "A pleasure to see you milord... I trust you are here on pleasurable affairs?"

"One could hope," Marianne muttered.

"We've made the most extraordinary discovery," Lydia got out before Arthur cut in.

"I'm sure he's read the news himself."

"I feel sorry for Sevarious," Anne laughed. "Guess he won't be getting his new site after all.."

"Can't say I'm sorry," Marianne nodded.

"Pratt had it coming to him, if you ask me," Lydia muttered under her breath.

"We did find these very strange stones in the cave... where a dragon was guarding them," Marianne said, and produced the strange ornate stone handed to her by the dragon. Lydia and Arthur had already glanced over it with the most meticulous care, evident by the wooden box it now inhabited. A small set of numbers marked it as part of their acquisition.

"Did you," Chas muttered as he glanced over the stone. Something about his gaze suggested to Mary he'd seen the pattern of spirals and runes before.

"We were hoping you could tell us a bit more. We've tried translating the runes, but have gotten gibberish."

Lydia looked to King Arthur, who shook his head. "I have no luck myself, milady. That was not known to me, even by my friend Merlin. But I do recall seeing those were the very sort of form of those words that he would use in magical incantations."

"Perhaps I could," Chas fingered the stone delicately, and glanced towards Marianne. The hot flush on her face did not go unnoticed by her friends.

"Dear, wasn't there another translation you wished to speak to me about," Morewood glanced at Lydia, nudging her. She picked up the box, and handed it to Anne.

"Ah yes," Anne laughed. "Lydia... I did mean to ask what you wanted to do about the newest finds."

"But..." Lydia babbled out before her sister and friend moved her towards the bar. Awkwardly Marianne and Chas glanced at each other, looking down at their drinks upon the table before them.

"I shall seek my noble knight sir Griff, and ask if he wishes to partake of the ale of this new time," Arthur nodded knowingly. "Good eve my friends..."

"Those Duane sisters, always looking for the next dig," Marianne finally said, not sure of what to say once they were alone together. "Oh lord am I blushing again?"

"And it's a pleasant sight to see. Fer an idjit such as me."

Another period of awkward silence ensued. Marianne could not look him in the face. His hand clasped over hers as he said, "Dance wi me?"

"But don't you have to perform?"

"The band'll go on wi'out me fer a time. Come nau," he urged, softly pulling her to her feet. Hand in his she followed him into the small hardwood area clear of tables. Already the rest of the band began to play, a slow jig.

"I was afraid I'd never see you again," she slowly admitted. "I came after you, thinking you were in Ireland, or perhaps even England... but no sign. And here you are of all places."

"Hmm, I wasn't far away at all," he responded. Still she kept a few inches betwixt them, even though her hand rested across his shoulder, the other clasping his.

"You knew I was here all along and you did nothing?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, we didn't exactly part on guid terms if yet get my meaning," he says. "I let the green-eyed monster get the better of me. And fer that I'm sorry."

"I... know... it can... be the most wretched situation. I should have asked you... consulted with you before I accepted the offer," she said, still looking at the movement of her feet. Good thing Chas had such a sense of rhythm, unlike other boyfriends who were scared to even get up to try their feet on the dance floor. Or else step on her toes.

"Chas, I sincerely hope that you can be a part of it, not be in the way of it," she breathed. "And you were right... I was faced with a decision. And I didn't follow blindly... I was so close to giving it up."

"What are ye saying?" he asked, his eyes turning a slight shade of gray.

"What I mean is," she gritted. "You were right and I was wrong."

"I take no pleasure in it, if that's yer meaning," he says, a somber look on his dark features.

"Curse it, you! I'm trying to apologize."

"And I'm trying t' apologize to you, fr being a jealous amadon! That's what I'm trying t' tell ye, lass, is there is no need fer such a thing!" he responds, his voice raised ever so slightly. "Now stop this silly groveling' before I'm tempted t' give ye a stern larruping! I ought t' bend ye over my knee this minute! The nerve you think that ye are t' blame!"

"Good grief you're a sight," she says, wiping a tear from her eye. "I just realized I even missed your scolding! I must be losing my mind."

"Ye really must have missed me then," he said, calming down. He smiled slightly as she shook her head and laughed.

"I missed you, Chas," she says to him. "Heavens above I missed you... I couldn't eat, sleep or..."

"Hush now," he said, putting a finger to her lips. "I get the idea."

Seizing his hand she kissed it vehemently. Mary felt her hands shaking as they held close and wouldn't let go. Soothing warmth filled her at the touch of his skin on hers. Instantly she moved into his leather sleeved arms, burying her head in his shoulder. That slick leather and the evergreen smell surrounded her as a protective aura. And the cold sensation of that golden torque around his neck tingled her cheek.

"As do I," she sighed deeply. Just to hold him again. But why did she get the sense that he really hadn't been far away? Some odd sensation tweaked at her deja vu. Where had she last felt this warmth and security? And that odd smell, of sapphire stone freshness? The last time was the Dragon's lair. As she held his hand in hers she noticed what appeared to be a rather new scar, which was healing nicely.

Dr. Morewood-Smythe and Lydia Duane noticed the young couple, from their own table. "Isn't that sweet," Smythe commented, sipping at his Guinness.

"To think she was searching wildly for this gentleman, and it turns out he was the evening entertainment?" Lydia laughed. The two colleagues exchanged a smile as they watched the couple dancing. There seemed something so natural, so right about them, that it put other couples to shame.

"Chas, where in blazes did you hurt your hand so badly?" Marianne demanded, seizing his hand.

"Er, it was quite a nasty pair o' thugs," he said. "But a rather nice woman helped me... and I was ever so grateful to her..."

"And who was this woman?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Are ye jealous?" he asked.

"Don't change the subject," she said, a bit stern.

"And what if I did?" he asked. "What if I was saying I had a terrible time of it myself right enough, without seeing ye for a whole month."

"Ooh, that's so unfair," she sighed.

"Aye it is but I know ye well, do I not?"

"Too true," she laughed softly, as she felt his lips softly caressing her cheek. Inside her heart melted, and the anger evaporated in the warmth of his love. "Mm. I never tire of that."

"Nor I," he said, taking her chin in his hand, and lifting it to stare into blue eyes that seemed a rich shade of hazel green. Verdant as the farmers fields in spring. Fresh clear dew upon them, the smell of steel and stone. The empathy opened as the distance was gone, and his gaze held her more intimately than before.

"Can you forgive my pride?" she asked him.

"There is nowt to forgive," he said. "It was my fault for presuming so."

"I'm so used to doing what I must without explanation and the thought that you... I... don't know what to think."

"Know this, I love you Marianne Lindsay Ellis. And whatever path they have put you upon, I am not far away. And there is something I would have done those two months ago."

Her heart pounded as he reached for something in his shirt pocket. Lamplight gleamed off a glint of silver as he clenched something small in his thumb and forefinger. He slipped it upon her left hand, upon the index finger of all places. And held up her hand to show her what it was. A heart was clenched betwixt two hands, a crown atop it. A claddagh, an ancient Irish friendship or promise ring. Except this was far more ornate and finely made then any one could find in a jewelry store. Had he made it himself?

"And it means a promise, right enough. I made the mistake of claiming you for my own without asking. And it was unfair rightly so. But I pledge my heart to you, and hand it to your care in this... for if you are promised... it is worn so... but if it be friendship it is worn thus."

Slipping it off her finger, he placed it in her palm. "It is yair choice."

Marianne felt hot tears. And slowly slipped the ring up her ring finger, heart pointed towards herself. Chas eyes lit up a bright green indeed. She threw arms around him, burying her face in his neck as she cried. "My love," she stammered out between sobs.

The night went on by itself around them upon the pub's dance floor. Mary slowly swayed with the graceful moments, cool silver upon her hand that gripped his ever tighter. Afraid that if she let go this time, she would not see him again. Yet she knew she would. For he had given her the decision, and she had made her choice. What would the future hold for them, she couldn't say.

But it was her choice, not for him to say. Just what other secrets were part of his past? Marianne knew that in time he would reveal what he wished her to know, and that was his choice, not hers. What was on those stones that the Dragon was guarding?


	6. Ancient Runes

_Disclaimer: The characters of Gargoyles are owned by Disney Buena Vista Co. Chas (Charles) Quin Cassidy is owned by Javagoddess, and used with her permission. Marianne, Cameron, Bertram and Elaine MacLaren Ellis, as are Anne Pricefield Duane and the characters of Raveloe, are my own characters, and if you want to use her in fanfic, let me know first, thanks! This story is written to continue a great saga of unusual story lines, and means no harm to Gargoyles. This is rated PG for violence and some adult situations._

**Part Six: Reconciliation and Retribution:**

by Trynia Merin/Janeth Rhian

* * *

It was midnight in Raveloe, the distant sounds of laughter faded into the small cozy houses while people returned from the Lance and Dragon's celebration party. An engagement had been announced, and people had drunk a toast to a new couple with glasses appropriately charged.

Arthur Pendragon had joined Lydia Duane and her sister Anne Duane Pricefield before returning to the small town inn. Somehow he did not feel tired, for the battle with the Sapphire dragon had left him strangely charged of energy. Old doubts and the promise of a turn in his quest had arisen with the discovery of that runic stone, which Arthur Morewood-Smythe had ferried to the archaeological dig field museum in safety just a few minutes ago.

Anne Duane Pricefield had offered them hot cocoa and the warm hospitality of her fire before Arthur consented to retire. Glancing out over the moonwashed grassy lawn Arthur could catch a glimpse of Sir Griff and Anne's two children playing in the moonlight.

"All-right little one! Way past your bedtime!" Griff announced, Lucy hanging onto his neck as he landed.

"Aww no!" she cried. "M' not tired!"

"You are too," Griff laughed, letting her slip to the ground. "And it's your brother's turn next for a midnight glide . . . "

"Super!" Tim chimed in. From the porch, Anne grinned as she went to collect her daughter. That gargoyle was quite a hit with the kids, she reflected. Her eyes glanced at the pair on her veranda, the ancient King and her own younger sister. The strains of his low hushed voice sent shivers down her own spine as Arthur Pendragon read something off a sheet of paper in the light of her open door:

_Dare I pluck the flower, tear up it's roots_

_From verdant soil, taking it beyond the realities_

_To my timeless realm? It is enough to know_

_It bloomed for a day in my grasp . . . then to be_

_Eaten by time's teeth . . . Bloom my love,_

_Bloom and spread your sweet pollen into the Mists . . ._

_Lest you never know their gentle timeless kiss . . ._

_Once a farewell to thee, my beloved one_

_Forever separated but for a separate time_

_Till pride and pain have overpassed_

_Humility and humble revelation._

_Two separate souls hoped to reunite_

_Across the misty shores of Avalon's banks_

_The world itself doth distantly creep_

_Within the mists the barrier forms_

_Eternity away, yet achingly within arm's reach_

_You were, ever close in aftergaze_

_The crystal shattered the words were lain_

_Again the mists parted, the words touched_

_Twain realities and experiences merged_

_Two lovers whose realities intertwined_

_One ancient, one fleeting, yet forever fused_

_As mist to tree, and root to soil_

_Never parted, yet uprooted for a time_

_Now lie close in verdant passion's bloom_

_Forever on the brink of life and death_

_The worlds will part, yet leave none alone_

_Magic forever enfolded in the mists_

_Hidden, yet known to the ancient's soul . . ._

_4th century Ballad attributed to Cassidae of Eire, Taliesin_

Arthur Pendragon carefully folded the slick smooth modern paper. So unlike the rag vellum of his time it was, it seemed magical.

"Thank you," he whispered to the women at his left, handing it back to her.

"It was the most recent bit we've yet found," Lydia Duane announced. Beneath a star dappled sky the two figures sat, upon the porch of her sister's house. "Not at this site, but in the same cave as the Scrolls. Yet again refuting the ancient texts found in Ireland... at the same time."

"To hear the words of the love song again," Arthur whispered. "I had never thought it had survived the centuries."

"It is well one of the most passionate of ballads I have had the privilege to unearth," Lydia told him.

"Written by him who was Taliesin in my time," Arthur added reverently. "A Bard among bards, late of Avalon, a traveler."

"Who wrote in a very odd and rare dialect of Gaelic," Lydia added atop his discourse. "Few can hope to translate it, and even fewer do it justice."

"You truly are a rare woman of talent and tongue, Milady," Arthur Pendragon knelt on one knee. She stifled a giggle as his lips touched the top of her hand. "To think that you read the ancient texts as if they were written by the Taliesin himself . . . "

"I cannot take the claim for this one," Lydia said. "Rather it was through diligent work with my teacher . . . it was she that helped me piece together the translation for this ancient ballad. There are few that know the language of ancient Gael . . . or the strange writing glyph attributed to the Tuatha."

"I had not heard that name for centuries for I had thought them long vanished from the face of Britain," Arthur murmured, climbing from his knee. Still, he absently kept a hand within Lydia's.

"Well, the whole existence of the Tuatha is something of a controversial debate," Lydia coughed. "Arthur and I share the minority view that the Tuatha didn't become extinct, but rather blended with the ancient cultures and traveled far and wide across Europe."

"In my time milady I had heard of a few of the Tuatha, supposedly existing in hidden lands. My friend Merlin had oft hinted the Fair Ones had much benefitted from their knowing. Even though he had also hinted that the Tuatha had departed this realm ages before I came to my rule. He had once spoken of a few travelers that moved between Avalon and here."

"And you say you have been in Avalon?"

"For many centuries I slept in the Hollow hill," Arthur said, realizing his hand was still clasped around hers. With a slight cough he retrieved it from her, and continued. "Twas the Lady Elisa Maza that awoke me early . . . and the Children of Oberon had but fled, only to return but a few of their days later."

"Children of Oberon, existing. It seems so fantastic," Lydia glanced up into his clear blue eyes. Grey hairs encroached upon the brown within his stately beard. A well-preserved King in his forties he was, somewhere between the Arthur she had long imagined from legend, and those on the movie screens. But to stand in the presence of the King Arthur, of legend and ballad! It was almost too amazing to believe. Not for the first time she felt her feet drifting off the ground.

"Excuse me, I'll just put the kids down," Anne excused herself. Arthur inclined his head to her.

"My thanks for your hospitality this night," he spoke as she hustled her children inside. She winked at Lydia, totally unnoticed by Arthur.

Lydia shot her a "what does that mean" look before returning her gaze to Arthur Pendragon.

"The fantastic miracles of this time dazzle my eyes and ears verily as your own astonishment," he admitted, glancing at the warm lights twinkling from incandescent bulbs in the many cottages.

"You must surely miss your friends and family," Lydia suddenly said. "Your noble knights, your Queen."

"Aye milady, that I do," Arthur inclined his head. "And even now I feel so close to finding the answer, it is abruptly torn away, as was the hope of ever finding my beloved Guenevere."

At these words his face crumpled with sorrow, and he turned. "Do forgive me milady. It is not seemly for you to gaze upon a King in his sadness."

"Please tell me," Lydia lay a hand on his shoulder. Still he wore his armor beneath the long trenchcoat, hints of anachronistic plate mail gleaming in the starlight.

"It is kind for your concern," he answered softly. "But I have no wish to mar your evening with my woes."

"Sire . . . Arthur in this time you have so few friends. Can't you consider me . . . a confident?" Lydia found herself stammering. Arthur turned his head slightly, glancing at the strange windows flashing in the moonlight before her eyes. Hair like soft short gold washed in the rising moon. He could almost believe it was the tone of his own beloved's. But that was folly. She was lost to him forever.

"Milady," Arthur began, taking her hand.

"Yes . . . sire," came her breathed reply.

"Ahem," coughed a rude interruption to the promising moment of revelation. "Sire, do forgive me for intruding, but I have a question."

"What is your news, Sir Griff?" Arthur asked, removing his hand once again from around the archaeologist's. "If you beg pardon Milady."

"How are you, Prof. Duane?" Griff asked.

"Never mind me," she hid a look of disappointment. "I'm only just retiring . . . good night . . . Sire."

"I bid thee good rest milady, and give you my thanks for your gentle council," King Arthur kissed her hand, dropping to his knee before her. She felt a hot flush in her cheeks as she slipped away into the cottage.

"What is your query, my noble knight?" Arthur asked his gargoyle companion.

"I was exploring the surrounding lands, and I couldn't help but wonder what our next move is Sire? Seeing as to that Dragon flew north. I wonder if we might go in pursuit of it. Seems to me that Dragon knows a fair bit about Merlin . . . "

"I would trust more the words of the Lady Lydia," Arthur said. "And those musings of Lord Cassidy and his lady Marianne. For them that know this time, and what has changed. We should wait here, and hear what tidings they will bring of their search."

"All right, if you think it's best," Griff inclined his head. "But I can't help but feel like we're missing out of something obvious."

"We must be patient. For I in my haste last time had lost much. I must add to my allies, for you have served me well, but I feel I shall need many in my quest . . . since my noble champions are nought to be found."

"Speaking of the which, where are Chas and Marianne?" Griff asked, raising an eyebrow. "They did rather rush off in a hurry ."

"One should not ask the whereabouts and goings on of a Lord reunited with his lady. Save that they revel in tender moments."

"Well, it has been a while for them. I only hope that they're making up their differences," Griff muttered.

* * *

That Next Morning, Raveloe Inn:

Ever so slowly she felt her eyes opening. Warmth cocooned her all around. She lay on her side, cheek still buried into the deep pillow. Licking her lips, she shifted her shoulder against a firm mattress. Someone's arm draped over her bare chest, pulling her back. For that moment she froze, forgetting where she was. Low rumbling vibrated against her spine. Gingerly, as not to shake the bed, she unstuck her back from the smooth firm chest that rose and fell against it. One of her legs slipped against two firmly muscled thighs.

As she settled onto her back, she glanced out of the corner of a half-opened eye. On the pillow next to her his dark featured face seemed so peaceful. The double bed was just large enough for her and its other occupant to lay comfortably side by side. Long soft hair, longer then hers spilled around the pillow in an ebony halo. She worked her fingers into its sleek silkiness, brushing it out of his face. Strange shyness overcame her, staring there up at a grim gray ceiling painted with the hues of early dawn. Weakly the morning sun peeked through the horizontal blinds.

Sleep still ached behind her temples. Dark exploded into orange before here eyes when she rubbed the sand from them. Glancing to the opposite side she squinted the red blur of her digital travel alarm clock. It was hard to tell if the first number was a six or an eight. Sighing, she turned back to his sleeping countenance. Far nicer to contemplate then her clock, she thought, leaning up on one elbow pressed into the firm mattress. She sat up halfway, her own curtain of hair spilling into his face. Its tips brushed ever so lightly against his nose, followed by her soft lips. Softly she kissed her way down to his mouth, where she gave a more sustained pressure. Hot exhalation wafted into her mouth as she worked an arm under his neck.

Two blue eyes blinked open, long lashes flickering. Strong arms drew her in close. A satisfied humming transferred between their merged mouths. When at last the kiss broke, he murmured,

"Good morn t' ye . . . "

"Morning yourself," she cooed, her own voice still a bit raspy. Always she felt unrefined in voice and body compared to him. Even though he insisted he loved her the way she was. Shivers raced over her body when she recognized the Irish accent to the tenor voice, not the softly accented English in her dreams. Blue eyes replaced the hypnotic green she had treasured so much before.

Without the hard chiseling of age, his high cheekbones merged beautifully beneath olive skin.

Yet wait, were those eyes suddenly a shade greener now? Or was it a trick of the light? Nevertheless, warm spread over her with the gentle caresses of fine smooth hands upon her breasts and shoulders. A sheer pleasure to look at and to touch he was, solid muscle without a lot of fat upon his slender frame. Not all hard lines and angles, but a few here and there with the curves of a well-trained body.

"Did y' sleep well, Mary," he asked her, fingering her cheek with the hands of an artist.

"Very much so," she sighed. "And I know just whom to thank for it."

"Nau who would that be," he teased.

"Er, well . . . let me think."

Chas shifted up upon his elbow, blankets falling away from his muscled chest. Olive skins stretched taught over his pecs, sweat glistening from the Dragon tattoo rampant on his left breast. She glimpsed the circle of horned lizards and dragons swirling around his upper left arm. Slowly she lifted her finger to trace the rampant sapphire blue there. Not a hair upon his chest, odd really, but she wasn't about to complain. Long hair fell around his shoulder, before his face making her laugh. He looked so silly peering from behind that black curtain with those blue eyes.

Lifting a finger, she brushed the strands from his face, playfully tossing them to one side. He slipped his hand around her, pulling her to his body once again in a firm hug. Up her leg slipped his to pin her own legs beneath in under warm bedclothes. She yielded against him once more. It was so hard to resist, and what limitation was there save a wake up time?

"What time is it?" she gasped. "We were supposed to meet with Lydia and Arthur about that artifact . . . "

"Easy nau Musha. Tis only eight o'clock. Ye have plenty of time," he assured her. "I already ordered breakfast to be brought up here and I thought of what ye might want t' wear. "

"This mind reading is crazy," she muttered.

"Tis your choice," he laughed, as she suddenly realized he was already dressed and showered, his hair pulled back into that slick long ponytail behind his neck again. He helped her to rise, as she automatically tried to cover herself with a blanket.

"Nothing t' hide from me," he laughed, jerking the sheet aside as he crushed her nude form close to his. And laid a sound kiss on her bare chest. She laughed for a moment as he then released her.

"Don't you ever give up?" she laughed, the tension and pressure to cover herself gone. After all they had shared why did she feel this shyness around him? Perhaps it was the clothing.

"If ye be wanting something t' wear, here is something that'd look fair lovely on yer already perfect form," he said, reaching into the suitcase.

"Chas what are you up to?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she saw the glint of gold. Her eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw an object in his hands that he carried in her direction. Cold metal slipped up her upper left arm midway.

"Chas, what is this . . . " Marianne asked, twisting her head so she could look at what he'd place there. A stunning dragon headed torque of gold, similar in design to his own twined around her arms, the dragon heads meeting in the middle. "Oh lord . . . you just gave me that ring last night . . . "

"That was t' seal ma pledge, but this is a far greater gift I give t' ye," he lay a hand over her lips. "Please, take it, wi my blessings and love, fer ye be part of ma clan nau . . . "

"Chas . . . you . . . this . . . is too much," she felt tears in her eyes at the gift. Another work of his hands on proud display on her upper arm. Each more precious then diamonds, but the jewelry should have belonged in a museum showcase, not on her freckled splotchy skin.

"Looks fair lovely on ye nau," he said softly, caressing her hand. Marianne just stood there in shock, fingers slipping over the smooth gold.

"Ye aren't wanting me t' dress ye up more nau?" he asked, his hand reaching for a bathrobe. The twinkle in his eyes which had gone from blue to green was infectious.

"Don't you dare!" she hit his arm playfully as she took the robe from him. "You're doing far more toward spoiling me already. Honestly, cooking breakfast, making the coffee, washing my suits, showering me with jewelry."

"But it's nowt me doin' the honors this morning," He lifted her in his arms, with a laugh. She lost her breath, gasping as she was swept up in strong arms, and carried bodily out of her bed.

A firm knocking shattered her illusion, and she felt rather foolish with him clutching her there.

"Yes?" Chas automatically responded. The door swung to, admitting an amused fellow holding tray somewhere behind the door.

"Breakfast, Mister Cassidy . . . ah . . . excuse me . . . "

Marianne turned an embarrassed shade of red as Chas continued to hold her off her feet. "Rather a nice honeymoon so far . . . I trust?" was the only thing the server could muster up to say.

"But we're not . . . " Marianne was about to say before a quick kiss from Chas cut her words off. The photographer blacksmith couldn't resist a sidelong glimpse at the man's look of envy when he witnessed the passion in Chas' kiss.

"Thank y' sir," he nodded. The man took one step inside the room.

"If I might ask another question sir," came his next statement. Marianne felt all the muscles in Chas' arm tense. He froze, backing away with Marianne in his arms. One booted foot suddenly kicked the door shut in the man's face.

"Chas what on Earth?" Marianne gasped, as he gripped her in his arms, practically rushing toward the window.

There came a splintering crunch as the door smashed open. In one fluid movement Chas deposited Marianne behind the bed, and summoned dirk and bastard sword. Get back! He shouted mentally to her.

A loud snarling sounded, Chas' twin blades flashing as they drew first blood. His blue shirt was spattered with steaming ichor. The next minute Marianne gaped in horror as whatever it was slammed into Chas' midriff, knocking him over. Crossed swords before his face blocked the next slashes, a booted foot pushed his opponent off him.

"What in the bloody blazes?" Marianne shot out as she leapt from behind the bed.

"I thought I told ya ta get back!" Chas hollered at her as he leapt to his feet.

Where was her shield pin . . . wait . . . no time. Instead she tossed the contents of her weaponry bag out, grabbing the long sword in her hand. This particular blade was a gift from her teacher Macbeth, a fine Scottish piece with no particular magic to it.

Chas followed through with another sharp cut, which sang through air occupied by the thing only seconds before. Marianne drew in her breath at the massed form crouching on the plush carpet, a gray stain with dripping fangs and two gleaming coals.

The blacksmith moved first, blades slashing at the lunging form. He didn't notice the second figure that shot in through the open window. Marianne whirled, her long sword arcing toward a black shape. Eyes squeezed shut at the last minute, she felt her blade's resistance as it passed through a solid target. There came a squealing as she backed away, anticipating the slashing claws she barely blocked with her own sword. Blood steamed over her bathrobe and splattered hotly upon her bare legs.

Ancient words tumbled out of Chas' mouth, "Gladriel Eluthian Olorin!" and an explosion of fire burst into the fanged one's face. A well-aimed blow bisected torso and hindquarters. Marianne could hear the thump as it fell, yet blocked out the sound to focus all her attentions on the opponent before her.

Another slash, and Marianne ducked. There came the whisper of cloth tearing under claws, Marianne thrusting her sword forwards into a matted mass of fur. She felt hot liquid spattering her hand and sword arm, strangely body temperature at the fur that brushed her fingers. Greasy and messy fur matted with a cold slime. Her foot contacted the same stuff as she pushed a solid body off her sword blade. A claw gripped her ankle. She threw herself up and back, sword driving home again.

Then came Chas' bloodcurdling scream, and the next few seconds were a blur of fire and scales. A solid arm threw her onto the bed. Shaking her head, she looked up to see a golden scaled creature slashing and tearing at the gray shadow. Chas' own blades bit deep, and she shuddered at the head rolling across the once clean floor.

The golden serpentine form landed on Chas' shoulders. Mary leapt to her feet, sword clenched in her hand at the ready at her love's side. Another eerie howl chilled her spine when the third creature leapt in through the window. What was that thing on Chas' arm? Vaguely it resembled a small dragon! Was it just her imagination, or did another suddenly appear on the shadow's shoulders, ripping and tearing with its snorts?

In unison Marianne and Chas swung their weapons, his blade Dragonavenger rending shoulder to flank, while Marianne's sliced shoulder to head. Her eyes squeezed shut in a series of blinks at the segmented pieces falling. And the agonizing howl that soon split her ears from a writhing mass upon blue carpet. A whoosh of flame and sparks from one of the golden fire lizards swallowed the blooded pieces all about the room. Still panting she felt her knees grow weak at the smell of burning hair.

"Oh . . . God . . . " she choked, leaning on her sword for support. Chas folded her into flannel sleeved arms. His fingers tickled against her bare skin, and she felt her flesh pressing against the smooth cloth of his shirt and blue jeans. It was then that she noticed the meager remains of what had once been a pink Victoria Secret bathrobe about her shoulders and hips. Tattered remnants left little to the imagination.

"Musha ye were incredible!" Chas laughed, the movement of his chest right next to her own. By now both the miniature dragons had landed and began to sniff at the charred remains of their handiwork.

"What . . . how?" she shook her head. "How did you know . . . and what are those things?"

One landed upon Chas' shoulder, slipping its sleek flanks as it transferred itself to Marianne. She cringed at the sensation of scales against her bare skin and neck. A little tongue flicked at the blood spattering her shoulders and face.

"Nau behave yerselves!" he cautioned, grabbing the one as its tongue was beginning to flick lower. Marianne suppressed a scream in her throat that came out as an audible gulp. Her heart pounded with adrenaline that surged her systems.

"Jest a few friends o' mine coming to the rescue in the nick a time," he assured her. Having been scolded, the miniature dragon curled around Marianne's neck, a low rumbling in its throat as it seemed to settle down. It was rather like having a boa constrictor draped over her. Still, she shivered with fear.

"Chas," she breathed again.

"He will nae hurt ye. I think it likes ye . . . and Goddess," he stopped with a look of shock on his face. At first she thought it was her lack of clothing, and shamefacedly grabbed something to cover herself with. But apparently he wasn't looking in her direction, much to her secret disappointment, rather at the mess of the place.

"Best ya lads take care o' this . . . and double quick!" he said. The first shot tongues of fire across the charred remains, till they burned oddly without setting fire to the rest of the chamber.

"Chas . . . what were those things?" Marianne managed to get out in her shock. She stumbled over to him, his arm automatically wrapping about her waist.

"Someone's idea of letting me know they're watching me," Chas gritted.

"Werewolves?"

"Something far worse," Chas muttered. "More like what ya'd call Whights . . . if ya take the Monster Manual view."

"While we're on the subject of AD&D," Marianne breathed, steadying herself against him. "That damned thing ripped one of my best robes. I feel like Red Sonya.. or one of those fool women with hardly anything on."

"Hardly anything t' complain about," he joked, his fingers slipping up her bare side till she screeched with laughter.

She felt his hand upon her shoulder, and the awkwardness spread across from his touch. "This is rather an awkward moment," was all she could babble out.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, drawing her shoulders to press her back against his chest. His chin lay into the hollow of shoulder and neck to lay a kiss. "Didn't mean t' cut y' off like that . . . I . . . "

"Got carried away as I did?" she completed his sentence. Slowly she felt the empathic mirroring of his own embarrassment. This was something else in their relationship she had yet to become accustomed to, the sharing of feelings betwixt them. Especially intense emotions. Not to mention the odd wandering of thoughts into her mind that weren't quite her own. Even as they both tried to straighten up the mess in the room. Silence was not to be marred by words, which may seem awkward, but by the transmission of thoughts. She abandoned the idea of worrying about modesty around him, as her first task was to clean the sword Macbeth had entrusted her with.

_Not married_, she thought.

_Of whose business is it save ours? We have pledged our troth to each other, marriage is but another step in the path we've chosen, is it not? _Came his reply. Her own attempts at telepathy seemed crude in comparison with the radiant singing of his pathing into her mind.

_Blast it this is so awkward I don't know how to say this_, she gazed at him. Blue eyes met her brown ones, increasing the strength of her shyness.

_Always the distance, Marianne? _He lifted an eyebrow.

_But we are not . . . and yet . . . we are so right together . . . but why can I not or you not say the words?_

_As I said before your choice. And time must tell how we explore the feelings perhaps_? He gazed at her cleaning her own sword with the remnants of her bathrobe. She watched in turn as he saw to his own weapons.

_I love ya, ye know? _Came his musical answer. _Would ye say the same?_

_I love . . . yes love you . . . _she thought to him. And he nodded, gripping her hand as he kissed hers.

_And there is none I'd prefer to be with then ya? _He continued. _Yet yer need for distance. Always pulling back from happiness is something I'll never understand._

_I don't either, she shook her head. Almost as much as I don't understand how I can communicate with you this way . . . when I never could hope to before . . . or is this more of that Recognition?_

He nodded, a mischievous glow in his eyes appearing that would put Ashake herself to shame.

What was it about those two that seemed so blasted familiar? He admitted to being Tuatha de Dannon as she. That must mean blood relation. Even though thinned by human blood. She'd waited for him to reveal his own ancestry, as she had hers. Slowly she lifted her hand, glancing over the richly worked mythryl claddaugh ring he'd given her. Heart worn point down facing her arm.

Her hand traveled to the worked electrum bracelet clasped round her other wrist, in an intricate Celtic knot design. She hadn't the heart to take it off, when he had put it on her shortly after their first date. Nor the golden torque bracelet on her upper arm, matching, in the shape of a dragon. She decided it was far too lovely to take off, wrapped around her upper left arm as Menne's bracelet had once been. Each piece was lovingly crafted by him, his time preciously limited to pursue silver smithing. So each presented piece seemed far more precious than diamonds when he offered each to her, that she melted all over inside. He wore jewelry himself, the golden torque was never absent from his neck, even in the depths of passionate lovemaking. Nor the earrings in his left ear, double matched set. Or an ornately worked gold ring upon his right ringfinger, similar in pattern to her bracelet. As was her habit when fishing for words, she twisted the bracelet on her wrist. Regarding him, there was little doubt of his own sincerity. What she feared however, was her own.

"Do ya have second thoughts?" his voice came out. She slipped a shirt around her shoulders, slowly buttoning it.

"I am ashamed to say so. Even after all we've shared, why can I not be content that things are finally becoming normal something awful turns up to make it all rot . . . and then."

"Musha, every couple has their fights. As we will. Wouldn't be normal otherwise and ya had t' admit our relationship is bound t' attract attention . . . from the strangest of sources."

"When I thought I had lost you it almost tore my heart out and yet . . . "

"Are ya afraid because you managed to pick up your life and go on living even when I wasn't around? If that's what ya fear, then you should have pride in your own strength. Not everyone could do so after that. To be able to have the strength to go on in the face of loss is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Now I feel really foolish," she sighed.

"Don't," he urged. Those soft lips pressed against her hand again, sending a swooning rush through her. A low moan escaped her throat at the sensation of hot fire searing warmth into her sensitive skin.

"Chas, one thought," she suddenly said, allowing him to continue kissing a path up her arm.

"Mm," he muttered, continuing upwards.

"You've never properly met my family and I cannot keep telling them about you without actually having them see you in the flesh . . . er . . . in person."

"Hmm yes," Chas muttered, then lifted his eyes to gaze fully into hers. "Your . . . parents."

"I cannot imagine what they'd think of you ," she flushed again. "Cameron was a bit strange at first, but he seemed rather comfortable with you . . . but my Mum and Da."

"Best sooner instead of later," he said. "Besides which, they've a right t' know the man their wee Mary is cavorting with . . . and speaking of thus yer in need o' a good washing."

He gripped her up in his arms once more, and kicked shut the door. Just how he was going to explain that to the management she wasn't sure. Nor did she care as he carried her into the bathroom, and proceeded to give her a very thorough scrubbing indeed.

* * *

The Archaeological Field Camp, 11 am: 

"Any joy at all?" Lydia asked Arthur Morewood Smythe.

"I'm no closer to deciphering this then you are," he sighed, laying down his pencil and paper. From one side watched the man they had come to know as Arthur Pendragon. Patiently he watched both archaeologists hard at work with their dictionaries and strange scrolls.

"It is indeed a previously or little known Runic text," said Lydia, pushing up her glasses.

"I am only sorry I cannot be of much help," Arthur said. "For I do not know how to read these words that are here written. Save only a bit of Latin which Merlin had taught me. But I never learned the reading of the Runes. Only those precious bits that were given to me by Merlin and the mystics."

"Where's our mutual friend?" Arthur Morewood-Smythe asked, glancing at his watch. "It's half past eleven and we'd asked him to be here by nine."

"I do not think it polite to assume," Arthur reminded him. "For as you remember the Lady and her Lord were sore apart for a month."

Lydia glanced out the trailer window, for she heard the sound of a motorcycle humming distantly on the road. Glancing at her own watch she realized it was indeed closer to noon then to morning! Strange how she and Arthur had known both Dr. Ellis and Mr. Cassidy for a number of years, and only recently had they come to know of his association. Two separate worlds joined in the association with these archaeologists of Celtic artifacts.

She rushed out to greet them as the leather jacketed figure pulled the Vincent cycle to a stop. He climbed down, boots touching the gravel road with a small dust cloud. He leaned over to help the other person out of the generous sidecar. Both pulled off their helmets as they approached. Lydia almost envied the strange glow that seemed to cover each of their faces. She could well guess what the cause was!

"Glad you're here! We're just looking it over now," she announced.

"And a good morning t' ye too," Chas laughed.

"Sorry about the delay," Marianne began to apologize before Lydia waved it aside.

"Oh it's no bother. Just glad you could spare the time considering the events of the past week."

"I can always make time fr ma friends," Chas nodded. "Now where is that artifact ye found in yon Dragon's cave?"

Arthur watched as Chas carefully glanced over the markings on the river smooth stone. A complex network of markings tangled into a massive Celtic knot design, bordering full spirals and intermingled scenes. The runic hieroglyphs on the back he traced with a careful finger. Silently his lips moved, as if he were reciting some long lost word.

"Well?" asked Arthur, a bit impatiently. "Does it speak of Merlin?"

"It's strange auld verse," Chas muttered, his blue eyes turning inward to peer into the centuries. At least that was what it seemed to those who knew his true age. "Some I've na seen fer . . . a long time. Very rare, and very auld."

"What does it say? Can you make any more sense of it then we?" Lydia eagerly asked him.

"What have you said it to mean?"

"Only mere words appear to match what is more contemporary runic writing. If taken one way its bits and pieces. If compared to glyphs found in about the same time period."

"Radio carbon dating of artifacts in the cave would imply it was close to a thousand years old," Marianne muttered. For she had indeed helped with this aspect. "But the fact there was a dragon there well might have skewed the readings."

"Carbon buildup on the rocks," Lydia nodded. Chas gave a small nervous laugh, which went unnoticed by the others, but not by Marianne. He was holding something back. She had come to know her lover well enough over the past year to know when he was withholding secrets that had to do with his long life. Long by human standards, but fairly young by those of the Tuatha.

"I can but see references to the name Merlin, by one translation. And hidden by the same. But when I use the glyptic wording it comes out to "way" and "divination".

"This is a marker," Chas said with a cough. "That points to something else. There are many subtleties in the language. It is a piece of an auld ballad . . . verra auld indeed."

"A ballad?" Arthur asked.

"The legend of my own life?" asked Arthur.

"Here an there. For if ye look here, there is the name Nimue," Chas said. "And the grouping here is Merlin. But it does not say that this is the place he is imprisoned."

"Chas, could you translate, into English?" Marianne asked.

"Hmm," he muttered, and closed his eyes. Then opened them, singing in a low hum that caught Lydia and Arthur in a strange spell. Several lines he went on, then stopping at one deliberate climax of melody.

"Chas in English?" Marianne asked, nudging him.

"Sorry Musha. Comparing the twa here --t' what I kn remember t' what's here--tis different."

"What do you mean?" asked Lydia.

"The legend of Merlin as I remember it t's not what is here. But this is what is written hence: _Within Mist, emerald hill and stone. Merlin's place is but to a few known. Cries and shouts from hollow hill, from whence the Dragons will. The way is known yet to be revealed, by Nimue's hand even now concealed. For she with cunning does disguise, that before one's own eyes . . . the Dragons not knowing but dwell nearby . . . only to scholar's secret knowing . . . can the path be hoped of showing . . . the way will drift from out the mists, when she of Lake and land doth speak."_

"Makes little sense to me," Lydia muttered.

"What do you make of it, Chas?" Marianne asked. "Sire?"

"I had known that Nimue had imprisoned my good friend," Arthur sighed. "Yet the piece regarding the Lady of the Lake? Nimue's arts were known to her, but this would seem that she was somehow involved in Merlin's imprisonment?"

"The Lady is not involved, I'd hope," Chas muttered. Then fell silent.

"Can you make sense of it, Mr. Cassidy?" asked Lydia.

"The ballad I ken, and that which is written here are from the same source. But someone has written it in subtle differences. That point to hints that could mean the difference between finding Merlin himself and ending up on another wild goose chase."

"Perhaps the ballad has become rather changed over time," said Arthur Morewood Smythe. "I mean, those Bards and all reciting the same tales . . . it's bound to get muddled over time."

"I assure ye it does not get muddled, jest because it gets passed down by word o' mouth," Chas said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I'll have ye know, that the Bards had t' remember every song to the last syllable. Their memory was phenomenal compared wi what ye people of nowadays seem t' be forgetting everything."

"Chas," Marianne said with a hint of warning.

"But that may well be," said Lydia. "For this might be an alternate version of the same ballad you seem to know. What exactly is your source? Doubtless it might not be."

The blacksmith photographer fell into sullen silence. Arthur Pendragon shared a glance of sympathy. For he knew the secret of Chas' advanced lifespan, and the cost he must pay to keep the information from those who might use it to their advantage.

"I say Lydia, do you remember that professor we had at University? The Arthurian scholar? Professor MacLaren! What do you think Marianne."

She flushed rather pink. "Are you sure that's necessary, to ask her? I mean Chas is perfectly capable of translating this. "

"Oh come now Mary," Lydia shook her head. "What's the harm in paying her a visit, after all she is . . ."

"Lydia please," Marianne sighed. "It's . . . complicated."

"Marianne, what's this about?" Chas asked.

"Yes, certainly Professor MacLaren might well have good insight into this matter," Arthur Morewood Smythe laughed.

"Professor MacLaren is only one of the best Arthurian experts aside from Geoffrey Ashe," said Lydia with reverence. "And you know it, Marianne."

"Marianne ye have t' tell her sooner or later," Chas said softly, rubbing her shoulder.

"Milady, you appear distressed. Is this Professor MacLaren known to you?"

"Yes," she said shyly. "She's my mother."

"Your mother?" asked Arthur Pendragon. "Is a woman of great learning with regard to my life?"


	7. Meet the Parents

_Disclaimer: The characters of Gargoyles are owned by Disney Buena Vista Co. Chas (Charles) Quin Cassidy is owned by Javagoddess, and used with her permission. Marianne, Cameron, Bertram and Elaine MacLaren Ellis, as are Anne Pricefield Duane and the characters of Raveloe, are my own characters, and if you want to use her in fanfic, let me know first, thanks! This story is written to continue a great saga of unusual story lines, and means no harm to Gargoyles. This is rated PG for violence and some adult situations._

**To Slay or Not to Slay the Dragon **

_**Part Seven: Riddles and Runes**_

By Trynia Merin/Janeth Rhian

* * *

On the way to Cambridge, Next Morning:

"I would advise you stay at the inn till we come collect you," Morewood Smythe said to Arthur Pendragon.

"Why, good sir?" Pendragon asked, over the sound of the Land Rover's engine. A small convoy of vehicles roared off for a trip out to where Marianne's parents lived, in Cambridge. It was a one hour drive, and Pendragon marveled at the similarities and differences in the landscape.

"Yes, I might ask why?" Lydia raised an eyebrow, glancing over at her colleague through the rear view mirror.

"Well, dash it all, do you think he'd resist the temptation to give his Arthur story in front of Professor MacLaren."

"I assure you I will not speak till bidden," Arthur Pendragon glanced back. "You underestimate my ability to hold my tongue."

"But it might not be a good idea. After all," Morewood Smythe stammered out.

Lydia suddenly detected the twinge of jealousy Morewood Smythe exhibited. Or was it concern for her professional safety.

"Speak freely man," Arthur bade him.

"Ahem, well considering strange events have followed your arrival, I think it best that you . . . er . . . guard against possible . . . rear attacks," Morewood quickly stammered out.

Arthur considered this. "Good counsel sir. I will be most honored to keep watch upon the house of the learned ones, the family of Marianne Ellis."

"Good man I'd knew you'd understand," Morewood Smythe nodded with satisfaction. "The best place to er . . . set up a watch may be the hotel at Cambridge."

"This is a city of learning, is it not?" Arthur indicated the spires of Cambridge rising into view. "Most glorious indeed!"

"Well, it's only the best University in all of England ," Lydia laughed with pride.

"I beg to differ," Morewood put out. "I myself graduated from Oxford."

Behind them roared the Vincent motorcycle belonging to a certain photographer. His girlfriend rode behind, the suitcases and bags stowed in the sidecar. The open air whistled past their faces, broken only by the two helmets. It was an invigorating way to travel, Marianne reflected. Nothing but open air around you, the road snaking beneath you.

"Pulling up now," Chas spoke over the whistling wind. Marianne gritted down her fear while the bike ground to a halt before her parent's home.

Chas remembered spotting a photograph of them, Bertram and Elaine. Yet both were professionally known as Prof. Bertram Ellis, Egyptologist at the British Museum and Prof. Elaine MacLaren, chair of Arthurian studies at Cambridge. The latter kept her name for professional reasons, many a book and paper to her credit. Her father's close cropped neatly mustache was nearly white, matching the silvery iron gray of his once blond hair. His wife's own iron locks were close cropped, short, around a face lined gracefully with cares. Dark brown eyes contrasted with the blue of her father's. Cameron and she were an odd blend of mother and father, the fairness in his hair going to cam whilst his eyes to both; Marianne's dark hair perhaps an echo of her mother's.

Yet to see them in person, as Prof. Ellis opened up the door, seemed far different then a two dimensional photograph. Cameron knocked on the door first, Marianne nervously behind him with her hand trembling in Chas'. He gave a gentle reassuring squeeze to her as the door clicked open. Five middle-aged persons assembled before the doors, among them Lydia Duane and Arthur Morewood-Smythe, two close friends of the Ellis twins from their University days.

Morewood-Smythe had known Cameron from their first dig, as Lydia had met Marianne on a stint in Ireland at a peat bog investigating old bodies that had come to light. Lydia and Arthur had both been students of Professor MacLaren specializing in Arthurian and ancient Celtic digs. By reputation they also knew Chas Cassidy, and were personal close friends of his. Small world, Chas reflected. How he'd known Lydia Duane and Morewood-Smythe long before he'd even met Marianne. Six degrees of separation indeed.

Lydia was well aware she and her colleague were a buffer zone for Marianne's introduction. However, as neither had seen their former professor for the past six months, it seemed a good excuse.

"I say this is a surprise!" Bertram said, shaking their hands as he invited his son. "Long time . . . I know the wife will certainly be just as thrilled . . . ah . . . and Mary."

"Da," she said softly, coming forwards to lay a kiss on her father's cheek.

"Professor, allow us to introduce a mutual friend . . . this is Mr. Charles Cassidy, one of our colleagues," Lydia began before Marianne nervously ushered Chas in amidst the bustle.

There came a clacking noise as a spirited woman shifted in on arm braces. Marianne went to her side, slipping her arms around the gray-haired woman with a pleasant lined face. Mother and daughter embraced, a silvery white chin resting on Marianne's shoulder. Brown eyes took in the look of the visitors, as Chas' eyes traveled to hers. There was a sparkle there, of something present that made Chas' heart leap. Perhaps it wouldn't be all that difficult convincing the mother, but the father . . . hmm.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cassidy," Bertram Ellis nodded, shaking his hand heartily. "Mary's told me much about you."

"The good or the bad?" Chas laughed. Professor MacLaren smiled. Her sharp eyes fell upon the pendant slipping from his shirt. The photographer slipped it aside for a moment, realizing while his eyes met the odd pendant around Marianne's mum's neck. It was a four-sided rectangular cube, with the images of a crown, a fish, a cross, and the alpha omega on each face respectively. Very odd cross indeed, Chas reflected. He could sense her eyes going to the crescent moon atop the pentacles on his own pendant.

A nail in the coffin? Perhaps . . . from the mother. The father settled them into comfortable chairs, all the while chattering about his latest discoveries.

"You add jewelry making to your resume, Mr. Cassidy?" MacLaren asked, an eyebrow raised as she noticed his torque. That same formality as in her daughter's reserve, overlaid with friendly questions.

"Right you are," he nodded. "Mrs. Ellis . . . "

* * *

The Ellis Household, 11 am:

Off to one side, the men gathered. Marianne watched as her mother and Lydia busied themselves with the references to Arthur. Morewood-Smythe chatted to Cameron about artifacts, as Marianne looked over in the direction of where her father and Chas now sat. She feared he was giving Chas the third degree, as he had often with her previous boyfriends. The whole Egyptian antiquity's affair would be first, followed by a hale of questions about the man's profession. Before he'd release him to Mrs. Ellis a.k.a. Professor MacLaren, who'd subtly perform the same routine.

With a pick Bertram ground the tobacco residue out of the bowl of his pipe. Small bits fell into the ashtray to one side. "So, how long precisely have you been a photographer for the Celtic Times magazine?"

"A guild long time, sir," Chas answered. He sat with both feet on the floor, somewhere between relaxed and alert with folded hands on his lap. Oddly formal for the casual down to earth photographer Marianne was used to seeing.

Fragrant tobacco wafted into Chas' nose as Dr. Ellis plunged his pipe bowl into the small canister. Tucking the pipe between his teeth he lit a match. His hands cupped around the bowl, fanning the slowly glowing embers with a few careful puffs. Chas caught sight of the ring glistening on Prof. Ellis' right hand. The small diamond at its center sparkled with radiant fire within its Freemason symbol.

"Yer a Mason, sir?" Chas mentioned.

"Yes, in fact I am," he nodded. "I would have thought Marianne might have mentioned it. Doubtless you here many a story."

"Been a long time since I'd thought about it," Chas muttered, fumbling in his pocket. Surprise filled Dr. Ellis face when he saw Chas slip a similar ring onto his finger.

"You are one as well?" Prof. Ellis looked at him oddly. There was a sparkle in his eyes that reassured Marianne. At least Daddy wasn't so adverse to him now.

"Haven't been t' a meeting in a vera long time," Chas muttered.

Marianne was floored. Since when in blazes did Chas ever mention being a freemason? Here was one ally in the family already. For her father earnestly began whispering in excited tones to a patient Chas.

"Ah! Here it is! Mallory's version of the Old English!" her mother announced triumphantly. "The complete source book! I knew it was lying around here somewhere."

"Good!" Lydia agreed. She turned back to her mother, and the two Celtic archaeologists.

"And only yesterday I was telling Cameron he'd been neglecting to come to the meetings lately," Prof. Ellis said, his hand resting on Chas' shoulder.

"Let's face it, I think yer son is a wild one," Chas quipped.

"I well know it . . . but don't let on," Prof. Ellis chuckled to the photographer. At least they seemed to be hitting it off, Marianne reflected. Her mother cast that odd judging glance upon Chas as she looked up. That same glance she'd given several past boyfriends Marianne had brought home. The glance traveled to Marianne's ring finger, where the claddaugh gleamed in the noon sunlight. Marianne could almost guess what her mother must be thinking at this minute. Half of her laughed in a stern triumph, while the other pulled her stomach into a slow dull ache within.

"So dear, have you figured that bit of verse out yet?" Ellis laughed to his wife. She settled into the easy chair behind a large oaken desk. Lydia busied herself putting a stack of books down to Elaine's right arm. Morewood Smythe stood at her mother's other side, spreading the etchings of the stone before their erstwhile professor.

"Hang about, it's not that easy Da," Marianne cut in. "This isn't Hieroglyphics . . . and that compared to this would be simple."

"Right ye are Marianne," Chas nodded.

"I have determined that the runes are indeed an odd rare sort. Interlaced with double entendre," Elaine announced. "If you read it one way, it sounds very anomalous."

"Anomalous?" asked Lydia.

"Yes. But if you take the literal meaning of the words, by place names . . . and account for the fact geography in that region has shifted . . . many of these places are locally known."

"Within Mist, emerald hill and stone. Merlin's place is but to a few known," Elaine read. "If you mean the literal translation, a region known for mists, green rolling hills, and local stone used for quarrying those stones for stone circles. "

"Hmm," Lydia muttered. "There were a few stone circles not far from Raveloe. One of the neighboring towns has a circle. The hollow hill I very well tried to find out to be a local Cairn. I've marked several on a map . . . but there are at least ten known scattered about the hillside."

"Cries and shouts from hollow hill, from whence the Dragons will," Chas repeated. "Could well be. "

"But this bit is baffling," said Lydia. " The way is known yet to be revealed, by Nimue's hand even now concealed."

"So far we have two qualifiers," Chas said. "Rolling hills, mist, cairns. But what would narrow it down even more?"

"Well, Nimue's hand, " Elaine said. "When I was writing my last book, I took into account ancient sacred sites that had original Celtic names. One of them was a large chalk drawing previously undiscovered. The locals call it Nimue's hand. For it is shaped in a pattern much like a hand with five fingers extended."

"Why have I never heard of it before?" asked Lydia.

"Well, it was in the middle of someone's pasture," said Elaine. "Satellite pictures showed the presence of an anomaly beneath the surface of the hills near Cambridge."

"And it would be right under someone's nose, in a thousand years time," Chas pointed out. "For she with cunning does disguise, that before one's own eyes."

"Exactly," Elaine nodded.

"How far is that from here?" Lydia asked, rolling out her map of archaeological excavations. It included sites that she marked with a pencil indicating the existence of cairns.

"Forty miles," said Elaine. "Any cairns within that location?"

"Three," Lydia marked out in a circle where Elaine indicated.

"So we have three cairns, but which of the three," Elaine rubbed her chin with a pencil.

"Could just check them all out," Cameron put in from one side.

"That's hardly economical," Morewood Smythe laughed. "Some of us don't have unlimited funding you know."

"Wait, we have another clue left," Marianne put in, now clustered around the desk with everyone else. "The Dragons not knowing but dwell nearby . . . only to scholar's secret knowing . . . can the path be hoped of showing . . . the way will drift from out the mists, when she of Lake and land doth speak . . . "

"The dragons not knowing . . . " Elaine looked a bit at a loss. "Hmm . . . "

"The scholar's secret knowing, could that refer to Druids?" asked Morewood Smythe. "I mean there is that bit about paths be hoped of showing . . . and ways from the mists . . . "

"If I might suggest something," Chas said. "If there be Dragons reported there at one time . . . they would have not disturbed the cairns. Often they were called upon . . . in er myth, to guard the tombs of the ancestors . . . "

"What are you getting at?" asked Morewood Smythe.

"Well, there were Dragon sightings reported lately," said Lydia. "The closest of the cairns toward Dragon's cave which we excavated lies right here . . . between Nimue's hand where you graciously provided, and a river, the Cam . . . and mists are often seen there."

"Dragon sightings?" Cameron laughed,

"I'm not joking," Lydia lifted her glasses. "WE saw something very unusual in Raveloe . . . "

"That crackpot Sevarious was running some odd experiments," Marianne cut in. "He's known for genetic engineering. That's what the papers said..."

"Balderdash," Cameron laughed, folding his arms over his chest. "If you don't mind, I'll get a stiff brandy! Anyone else want anything while I'm up?"

"Well it was a hoax," Chas put in.

Elaine looked to Bertram, not sure if these youngsters were pulling their legs or not. They decided to humor them.

"All myths and legends aside, are we any closer to narrowing it down? Would it even be inside a cairn?" Morewood Smythe suggested.

"The secret ways ere showing ," Chas repeated. "To scholars know . . . mists."

"Chas, what are you on about?" Mary asked. His eyes had a faraway look in them, as if tracking through hundreds of years of memory.

"Well, as I recall, the coven had their secret places. The ways, sometimes . . . referred . . . to ley lines of power. Sometimes visible through the mists, at certain times of the day. Only those of the magic would know their location. And to follow the ley lines requires much special training . . . only a few would be privileged to know . . . especially those in the school of the Lady of the Lake."

"How does that help us?" Lydia asked.

"Hmm, he's onto something," said Elaine. "There was a site . . . which was rumored to be an ancient meeting place. There are a series of caves in the local hills."

"Incredible!" Lydia burst out. "I know where to go! Just wait till I call Arthur!"

"Which Arthur," asked Marianne, then stopped as she realized she was talking out of turn when Morewood Smythe's face darkened a bit.

"Calm down a minute," Bertram laughed. "You're taking on as if you were under some sort of a time limit! Wherever it is, I'm sure it can wait till you get the proper clearance for digging anywhere."

"That's just it, I've got to get cracking," Lydia laughed. "Thank you ever so much, Professor! If you'll excuse me, I've got a few phone calls to make."

"Don't you mean we have a few phone calls to make?" Arthur took her arm.

"Oops, sorry," Lydia laughed nervously. Elaine raised an eyebrow, noticing this little bit of tension as the two former students left the room.

The Ellis Household, 3 PM:

Much later, Lydia and Arthur Morewood Smythe had long since left. Lunch was set out and cleared away, and evening Tea was set out. Everyone sat in the sitting room as before. Marianne nervously spooned three teaspoons of sugar instead of her normal one.

"Ugh," she grunted, making a face as the sweetness ached her teeth.

"They certainly went off in a huff," Cameron Ellis said, sipping a peg of whisky. "What's so ruddy important about finding that site tonight?"

"Let's just say, Lydia is a bit anxious," Marianne stirred her tea, the spoon clanging in the sudden silence.

"It's rather like her to be enthusiastic and all," Elaine commented, biting into a large eclair. "But there is something very odd about this whole affair?"

"Being," Bertram crossed his arms over his chest. Thoughtfully he puffed upon his pipe.

"You said something about dragon sightings," she laughed. "And Dr. Sevarious? Marianne, it's been years since you had seen your professor in Genetics, what was he up to?"

"He... was attempting to sway the council of the village... to gain use of the land... for his new branch of Nightstone Industries," Marianne explained.

"What's so bad about that?" Cameron asked, swirling his whisky before taking another chug.

"It would threaten a unique way of life," she answered quickly.

"How do you know?" Elaine peered over the top of her bifocals. "If I may ask a direct question . . . "

"There were certain things he wished t' disturb," Chas muttered. "And we couldna let him tamper with nature..."

"Was he developing some of that genetic altered grain?" Elaine asked.

"No, something far worse," Marianne said. "He wanted... to capture a certain wild animal, and experiment on it..."

"That happens all the time," Cameron said. "Don't tell me you've gone all animal rights..."

"There's laws against using wild animals for experimentation, and you know it, Cameron," Marianne snapped. "This was worse, for it was an endangered species! I had to stop him!"

"You stopped him?" Bertram raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. And the townspeople were so disgusted they threw him out of town..."

"But what does all this have to do about the dig that was going on there?" Bertram asked. "I assume this activity was a dispute having to do with land... if there was an endangered species there... then what gave Lydia and Arthur the right to dig..."

"Er, the indigenous species left," Marianne swigged her tea.

"Oh," Elaine muttered. "Marianne, what is precisely going on here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know when you're hiding something. And you sir, seem to know an awful lot more then you're letting on."

"Elaine, he's a guest!"

"If you are going to be marrying my daughter, you'll have to be honest with us. Did you involve Marianne in a dangerous situation?"

"What?" Chas asked, looking dumbfounded.

"You specifically said the whole business of Sevarious was a hoax. The dragon sightings and all. And more then that, you were the one who unearthed that particular runestone."

"How do you figure that?" Marianne cut in.

"Your recitation earlier of the verse. Was too perfect..."

"But I might have heard it from ye," Chas said, glancing up at Elaine.

"No. I had only just deciphered it, and said to none. How could you possibly know what I had not yet revealed, and better yet, why come to me when you could have well helped them yourself?"

"The truth is, Professor MacLaren, that I did know what that verse said. But it's no the original ballad. There is a difference."

"And how would you know what the original was supposed to be, eh?"

"I know the language," Chas said, looking into his teacup.

"And I heard about the little break in at the hotel. Lydia said something about strange noises coming from the hotel room, and there was a police report of someone breaking and entering your room, Marianne..."

"It was two thieves..." Marianne started.

"Oh please! They found blood! What is going on, Mr. Cassidy, and the truth..."

"Someone tried to kill your daughter," Chas said. "And I found out in time. The one that broke in... was a creature specifically sent... to stop me and stop Marianne from deciphering the runestone..."

"What?" Elaine laughed. "Monsters?"

"And Dragons," Marianne said. "I met a Dragon in the village. And two wild animals that broke into my room. If it wasn't for Chas I'd be dead."

"And what pray tell does this have to do with my daughter?" asked Bertram. "Wild roll playing?"

"No. Magic. And old legends. They are all true, Professor Ellis and Professor MacLaren. There is a dark force that must be stopped. And Marianne and I have been chosen... to help stop it!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ancient legends are true. Especially concerning Elves and Dragons. I am part Fey myself," he announced. "Might as well be out wi it an all! That's how I knew the runic writing. Fer I speak it myself, the language written on that stone. Ancient Gael, passed down by word of mouth..."

"Unbelievable," Prof. Ellis drew in his breath.

"Precisely," Prof MacLaren sniffed. "I don't believe it."

"It just happens to be true! The old legends, Grandma . . . all the stories of the wee folk!" Marianne blurted out. "I saw a Dragon with my own eyes! And St. George."

"Preposterous . . . there may have been actual archaeological remains of early civilizations . . . but its all myth and legend! We have not proven the Fey ever existed."

"Mother, he is!"

"A child of Oberon?" MacLaren raised an eyebrow.

"Hardly. I'd be Tuatha . . . Sidthe blooded. One half t' be precise," Chas said, matter-of-factly. As if he was casually announcing the result of a race, Chas eyes seemed to take on a green hue.

A very queer look came over MacLaren's face. Her own eyes narrowed at the sight of the color change. It seemed very subtle, but noticeable enough to the perceptive Arthurian scholar.

"What exactly are you?" she whispered in a low voice.

"As I said, Mrs. Ellis . . . " Chas repeated, his eyes taking on a serious grey hue. "I am of Fey blood. Runs through ma veins. Seeing as Mary here and I have expressed our intentions. I did na think it proper that ye should not know the truth. Ye'd find out sooner or later . . . knowing how brilliant you are in your research. Nothing would escape your observation for long . . . "

"The truth . . . it's just . . . too much to take in," Marianne's mother shook her head. "I want to believe what you're telling me, but its just so . . . outrageous."

"Mother please. He is telling the truth."

"And you didn't tell us, your own mother and father?" Dr. Ellis raised an eyebrow.

"With all due respect Da, there are secrets you hide from me, being a Freemason. Could you expect me to go back on a promise to keep a secret safe from those that might cause harm in its revealing?"

"You . . . have me there, Mary," he sighed deeply. "But still . . . it's the principle of the sort!"

"I love him Mum, Da," Marianne leveled her gaze to meet her parent's shocked expressions.

"Ye heard her clearly as day. I love your daughter, and I want her t' spend the rest o' her life wi me. No hiding that fact ," Chas gripped her hand tightly. "I only hope ye wuild give us yer blessing . . . fr ma ain parents have given the same."

"Your . . . parents, and who might they be?" asked Marianne's mother.

"Elspeth Ashake Coulter," he answered. "And ma da."

"This is a shock, Marianne," was all her mother could get out. "I do wish . . . you had told me sooner . . . I mean . . . only a year since you've known this man?"

"Well, this man is a fellow Freemason," Dr. Ellis coughed. "I suppose . . . that's it then. You plan to marry then?"

"Well, we er . . . have yet t' set a date," Marianne stammered out nervously, realizing that wasn't the best thing she'd said. That cold inquisitive stare from her mother dropped her body temperature precipitously. Her da however seemed a bit resigned to the idea.

"That's it then," Dr. Ellis rose to his feet. "If it's a question of timing or such . . . "

"Marianne, have you thought this through?" her mother asked. "Is this what you really want?"

"Mother, please I have . . . " Marianne felt her face flush hot.

"It is what I want, and what she does," Chas nodded. "And there is no one else I'd rather share my life with."

"There's much more to a relationship then simply running away together," Mrs. Ellis shook her head. "Have you talked about career, home, family? The question of religion?"

Here she stared right at his pendant, question in her eyes.

"Mum . . . yes of course," Marianne broke in.

"Marianne, I don't want you rushing into something you're not certain about," her mother reached over with one hand. "Think of your life and how it may change. Are you, Mr. Cassidy prepared to take on the responsibilities of being a husband? Possibly a father? After all you do much traveling do you not? How could that fit in with Marianne's plans."

"It has always been my experience to work together with her on those things," Chas answered evenly. "WE face each challenge together, even though we be individuals, together we are stronger. And together we face what life has to hurl our way."

"That is well and good. But there is the question of religion. IN a relationship, two people must share similar values. And if you are what you say, how can that fit in . . . harmoniously with what my daughter believes?"

"Mom . . . " Marianne stammered out. "I'm thirty-one . . . I am capable of making an adult decision . . . can you not trust?"

"Marianne's spirituality is extremely important," her mother continued. "And I want it made clear that I believe."

Here it comes, the judgment and talk, Marianne thought.

Chas blinked for a moment, choosing the words. Finally when he spoke, Marianne held her breath. "Everyone has their inherent goodness. In many religions, is not the message of love the most important, and the belief in a supreme Creator? A source of all being? I was raised by those called Druids. In a magical realm. Those things that surround the auld magic, are as meat and drink to me. I breathe magic, and it flows in my veins. But it is not contrary to the magic of stone and rain, fire and forge. The magic in a mother's song, or a weaver's tapestry."

"But is your magic compatible with what we believe?"

"And what is the singleness of your belief?" asked Chas. "What is it that you consider it important to hold onto in a marriage? That you hope Marianne will cleave to? I simply wish to know."

Marianne's mother was taken a bit aback by this direct question. It was her turn to think. Finally she said, "The belief in inherent spirituality. That we are all on our own path under God's will. Yes perhaps you could say the belief in Christ. But the journey must be made with a united front. Two people who are companions must share the same beliefs, but the underlying philosophies must not conflict."

"I know much about Christianity," Chas cleared his throat. "The messages of love and tolerance are shared by those that raised me. Of respect for every living thing, and the dignity and sanctity of life. That magic which I breathe is no different and flows with goodness and truth as that which you have surrounding you, Mrs. Ellis. Is it traditions of your Church of England you'd have her share, or the truths beneath them that I must have?"

"I am not intolerant of mixed religious relationships, as long as the philosophy of the two people in question is united. One must not coerce the other into going against their inherent nature however."

"Marianne will no be put upon a stone and sacrificed," Chas joked. "That's no what this be about."

Her lips twitched positively at his joke. "I know the traditions well."

"But what my wife is trying to say Charles, is that we want our daughter not to be involved in any witchcraft . . . if that is what you practice."

"No. I wear this as you may wear a cross, or any other jewelry. Not in the service of those spells ye'd be familiar with Dr. Ellis. But in the culture of my people. It is part of what and who I am. My cultural heritage. And I would not deny her . . . our children that heritage any less then I would their Anglican roots if I be presuming correctly that's what yer referring to?"

"Indeed. But a child must be brought up in either faith. One or the other. And Marianne has made it quite clear her intentions."

"I will honor them, if that is her wish," Chas nodded reverently.

"It is very important."

"Indeed," Chas nodded. "But ye still seem uncomfortable with what I represent. That somehow when I wear this . . . ye think black magic. Tis not the religion always that is bad, but those that follow it that corrupt it. The Church o' England has its persecution of Catholics, and the native religions of many in Ireland and Africa. People fighting and dying for the sake of it. "

"A good point, Mr. Cassidy," Marianne's mother nodded. "But I simply wish that you both carefully consider this commitment you intend to make to each other."

"And that is what I would hope ye would want fer yer daughter," Chas nodded. "I know ye love her, and take pride in what she's accomplished. And want the best for her. We have already faced many trials, and it is our love that has seen us through them. It's hard t' imagine what things wuild be like wi out her..."

"That may well be, but all of these things you claim! I don't know whether to believe you or call the police to lock you up in a lunatic asylum!" Elaine suddenly said.

"Mother, how could you?" Marianne suddenly burst out. "In front of company! You've known this man for years!"

"Mary . . . don't raise your voice at me!" Elaine answered sharply.

"If you don't trust my judgement, Mum. I cannot believe you don't trust me."

"It's not that Annie, but we both . . . don't want you involved in something dangerous! He seems genuine enough, but your mother . . . "

"I'm sick and tired of trying to prove myself to both of you," she choked. "I try so hard to get my life together, and you cannot accept when I chose someone to love! First the job in San Francisco, and now this!"

"We don't want you throwing your life away!"

"I've done nothing but listen to you for thirty years!" Marianne wailed. "Whenever Cameron does something potty you just send him money! But me, if I take one wrong step its, Annie don't do this, Annie don't do that! Or your should this or that! I'm tired of it! Why is he so special that he can do what he pleases!"

"That's not true!" Cameron cut in. "I have my own responsibilities!"

"Mary, that's hardly the case and you know it!" Bertram snapped. "If you wish us to treat you like an adult, then act like one . . . "

"Just like you are . . . right now Da," she returned. "I treat you with the same respect you treat me."

"We're you're parents," Elaine's voice came. "We only want what's best."

"I'm thirty-one, and I should know what's best," she snapped. Before her father could stop her, she pushed past him, and opened the door.

"Annie," he called.

"I'm going to go get some air. Suddenly it's very stuffy!" Marianne retorted, grabbing the car keys for Cameron's Porsche.

"Hey, I was going to the pub tonight!"

"It can wait!" she snapped, shooting him a dark look as she stormed out of the house.

"Come back here this instant, young lady!" shouted Elaine.

"Sis," Cameron made a weak attempt to stop her, as she pushed past him.

"Annie, please don't run off ," Bertram shouted as he rushed out the door. Chas and Cameron rushed to see her roaring off down the main street.

Marianne slammed her foot in the accelerator, not caring how fast she was going.

Elaine heard the shouts mingling with the car engine, and struggled up. Chas moved to help her, but she gave him a sharp stare as she shifted out into the main room. "Marianne . . . come back here young lady!" Bertram shouted.

"What?" Chas asked, moving out.

"She just bloody drove off! The nerve!" Bertram snapped.

"What?" Elaine cried. "You must be joking."

"In my car!" Cameron wailed.

"Oh never mind your dratted car!" Bertram snapped back at his son.

They stared through the window, seeing the Land Rover had roared off. Elaine whirled on Chas, her brown eyes blazing, "See what you've put her up to!"

"She chooses to do what she chooses," he said.

"Fat lot of help you are!" Cameron snapped. "Sitting there like a bump on a log when you could have stopped her from going off half cocked."

"But I'm going after her now," Chas struggled into his leather jacket.

"How should I trust you, setting her against us like that?" Elaine cried, her arms quaking in her braces.

"Dear, do not take on so!" Bertram gripped her arm.

"My car, if she totals it, I'm going to kill her!" Cameron wrung his hands.

"Be quiet all of ye!" Chas raised his voice over theirs. "That's quite enau!"

Everyone glared at him, more shocked at the volume of his voice then in anger. It was the tone of authority in his voice that few dared question.

"Nau as I was saying before, I'm going after her, and I'll bring her right back, I promise!" he said, grabbing his helmet. "I'm sorry ye had t' see us like this."

"Bring her back safe and sound, Mr. Cassidy," Bertram said, grabbing Elaine as she quivered in anger.

"I promise I'll no fail ye," he said, rushing out the door to his motorcycle.

"Tell her I want that car before nightfall!" Cameron shouted.

"Oh wrap up!" Bertram snapped, boxing Cameron's ears.


	8. Morgana's Curse and warning

_Disclaimer: The characters of Gargoyles are owned by Disney Buena Vista Co. Chas (Charles) Quin Cassidy is owned by Javagoddess, and used with her permission. Marianne, Cameron, Bertram and Elaine MacLaren Ellis, as are Anne Pricefield Duane and the characters of Raveloe, are my own characters, and if you want to use her in fanfic, let me know first, thanks! This story is written to continue a great saga of unusual story lines, and means no harm to Gargoyles. This is rated M for violence and some adult situations._

**To Slay or Not to Slay the Dragon**

**_Part 8: Morgana's Pact_**

By Trynia Merin/Janeth Rhian

* * *

"I really don't see what was going on! Why leave home in such a state?" Lydia said over her cell phone. Cameron's sporty Porsche had all the latest gadgets, including a hands free digital phone.

"Do you really have to ask?" Marianne wiped away her tears. "They don't bloody believe me!"

"But you left Chas there, alone . . . "

"I just couldn't stand it a minute more," Marianne explained. "I'm so tired of them treating me like I cannot make my own decisions!"

"But to leave in anger . . . " Lydia said.

"Just tell me where you are," Marianne said. Already she quivered much like her mother must be, in anger and shock. What did she expect? Hi mum, here's my boyfriend, and oh, by the way he's half fairy! We're going to get married . . .

Bloody hell, she muttered to herself as angry tears dripped onto her hands. I've done it again! Ruined everything with my Scottish temper!

An abandoned Strip Mine, outside of Cambridge:

"A strip mine?" Marianne asked, pulling into the driveway Lydia indicated. She let out the clutch, pulling in.

"That was closest to the location given on the map . . . " said Lydia. Shrugging, Marianne set out after her friends. Anything to distract her from the memory of her parents' shouts.

All around her rose the sloping heaps of slag, a whole area of desolation. Someone had torn the side of a hill out, revealing the stratified layers of soil upon soil. Here and there mists rose off strange crystalline pools. Underfoot the stones crackled and slipped, and Marianne had difficulty trying to keep her step.

"Lydia, can you still here me? Where precisely are you?" Marianne asked.

"Over by the old blockhouse . . . used for blasting. I see a cave, near the mists. Arthur here says that his sword Excalibur just went mad . . . "

"Excalibur?" Marianne questioned, losing her footing for a moment. She gripped the phone with a shriek.

"We're going in. Look for the cave in the main side . . . by the hill in the far end . . . "

"Cave in the main side, far end," Marianne repeated, stumbling with her shoes striking up small gravel. One false step, and she would plummet into the gravel pools. Somehow that didn't' seem too appealing.

Over her cell phone Lydia's voice rose excitedly in pitch, "Arthur's halfway in. Oh . . . he says he sees strange markings. Much like those of the . . . oh wait . . . yes . . . I'm picking one up now . . . "

There came a crackling. "Lydia, you're breaking up . . . "

"I've got to sign off for now . . . going in . . . "

"Be careful," Marianne spoke, before her cell phone went dead. An eerie silence filled the air. There was no sound, except that of the road nearby. Already the sun was sinking lower and lower, toward evening. Why did Lydia insist on dragging this into night?

Come to think of it, didn't Arthur Morewood-Smythe come here with her? He had said something about leaving King Arthur behind.

Excalibur. King Arthur was with Lydia now! But she said nothing about Morewood Smythe.

What had happened to him? Did it really matter?

Her head flashed to the side as she heard footsteps, of someone shifting through gravel. Who could that be? She stopped, dead. The footsteps stopped. Perhaps some strange echo.

As she approached the far wall of the quarry, she felt a strange buzzing on her upper arm. Odd. Slipping up her sleeve, she felt the gold of her Celtic bracelet Chas had given her the other day. A jolt shot through her like a bolt of electricity. Strange, she didn't think she was creating that much static electricity.

Chas made it though. Who knows what magic it was enchanted with . . .

Again she heard footsteps, the scrape of something through gravel. Not moving her head, she glanced from side to side, seeing no one.

"Chas . . . if that's you, you're being an idiot!" Marianne gritted. "Come out, and stop playing about!"

No answer. She had crossed the main path, and saw a small series of mine openings in the distance. Like an overturned anthill, she saw the exposed caverns in the hillside. There came a feeling of intense heat around her arm, and she stopped cold.

Whirling about, she brought her arm smack into the figure moving behind her. Arthur Morewood Smythe gurgled as her hand shot around his neck.

"Hurgh!" he grunted as the flat of her hand struck him on the forehead.

"Oh god! I'm so sorry!" she gasped, catching him as he fell.

"Gasp... Dr. Ellis . . . sorry to disturb you..." he said.

"What on Earth are you doing sneaking up on a person like that! I almost bloody knocked you flat!"

"You shouldn't be here . . . " he said, taking her arm. "It's not safe."

"I beg your pardon, but Lydia called me. Why aren't you with her?"

"I tried to tell her, stop her. But she refused. She's gone off with that Arthur fellow . . . "

"What is going on here," Marianne asked him.

"We've got to go in, and get them out of here before it's too late," Arthur Morewood Smythe said.

"If you're so keen on that, then why don't you go in yourself and get them? Why sneak up on me?"

"You're the only one that fool Pendragon will listen too," said Morewood Smythe. "He's got her under his control! This mine . . . isn't abandoned . . . "

"What? She told me she got clearance . . . none of this makes bloody sense!"

"Please Dr. Ellis, we must get them before it's too late . . . "

"Let go of my arm, you're hurting me!" Marianne growled. He whirled her to face him, eyes unusually bright.

Marianne's bracelet burned her arm like white-hot fire. She gasped at the intensity. A chill crept over her like a tidal wave. "Wait . . . you're not Smythe, are you?" she ripped her arm out of his grasp.

"What are you talking about of course I am . . . "

"No . . . you're acting very strange . . . " she backed away, hands held before her. "I don't know who or what the hell you are, but if you don't tell me what's going on . . . "

"And how do you propose to threaten me?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch.

Suddenly he exploded into a hairy creature before her eyes, fangs dripping with saliva as he hunched over. "If you won't cooperate, you will join them in their folly!" came a voice like a rasping shriek.

"Oh damn," Marianne got out before the claws descended upon her. It was identical to those two creatures which attacked her and Chas at the hotel!

Chas felt the ley lines surging with their power. Silver threads to his third eye, he saw the strange interwoven mess converging in the distance. "Tis there," he muttered to himself.

"Don worry Mary I'm coming," he thought to himself. Fear surged up in his belly, washing over his whole body. The next few minutes were the most excruciating as he finally reached the entrance to the quarry. He practically ripped his helmet off as he leapt from his cycle.

Only for a moment he stopped, sniffing the air. An odd acrid whiff of something made him wrinkle his nose in distaste. The same stench as from the hotel!

Long legs carried him across the entrance to the quarry, in the direction of the adrenaline surge. Marianne had come this way, he could sense her fear, her anxiety moment by moment.

Marianne, he called in his mind. Hoping she'd hear him and be reassured.

His toe caught something and he almost tripped. A small black object, the green light flashing on it urgently. He scooped up the small portable digital phone, beeping anxiously like something alive.

"Hello?" he answered it.

"Chas . . . where what? Where's Marianne?"

"That's precisely what I want t' know!" he called back.

"I had gone into the cavern, and was telling her where to go . . . " Lydia's voice came.

Suddenly Chas pulled the phone from his ear, wincing in pain as Lydia's scream pierced his eardrums.

"Lydia!" he shouted. Dead silence.

A loud low rumbling shot across the quarry, much like thunder. All the ley lines strained and flashed momentarily with a mighty power. He rushed toward the source, reaching under his jacket. Twin blades crackled to life in his nimble hands.

Marianne's blade swung yet another time, slicing into thick furry flesh. A howling scream sounded while claws raked against her armor. Two more lateral strokes and the figure crumpled to the gravely sand. She breathed, chest heaving in and out.

"So much for that bright idea," she laughed, glancing at the twisted hairy shape. It was quite dead, she realized when prodding it with her armored boot.

It was then that she heard the low rumble, crackling as thunder on the ground. It wasn't continuous, but a rhythmic sort of pounding. Coming in the direction of the cave. She was almost there, then stopped dead in her tracks.

For Arthur Pendragon raced out, Lydia at his back. Excalibur exploded with a blaze of light before him. What was behind him made her blood run cold. A huge shadow fell across Marianne, eclipsing the sun.

"Good Lord!" she gasped. Almost thirty feet high a head and shoulders thrust vertically, massive shoulders and gnashing fangs. The only word that came to mind was giant. Ogre . . .

Dressed in skins, larger then life. Like something out of a fairytale book, climbing out of the cave. It had to bend over doubt to have gotten out of there! No matter how it did, because now it reached for Lydia Duane.

Arthur threw her to one side, blocking her body with his own. Excalibur struck the Giant's hand, a stinging cut biting deep.

While the Giant roared in pain, Arthur grabbed Lydia in his arms, backing away. He whirled, swinging Excalibur in a glistening arc. A fire flash exploded right into the Ogre's face, giving him precious time. Still, the giant advanced.

Screaming, Marianne raced forwards, "Hey, ugly! Over here!"

It turned it head, rapidly. Marianne raced forwards, swinging with blazing energy from Wavedancer. How could she hope to fight something that big? Her arcs of light tossed from Wavedancer flew, only to be battered aside by a huge club. He brushed aside her next volley with an annoyed grunt. It only seemed to make him more angry. How on Earth could she fight something that size, who seemed resistant to light?

Just then she remembered when she was fighting the Dragon. That lance... it might well give her the reach. If she hit it in the foot.

She concentrated, pulling all her strength. The ogre had turned to the fallen King Arthur, who was slowly managing to shake off his blow. Lydia climbed off him, getting well out of his way. Arthur again placed himself between her and the giant, Excalibur raised before him. The club swung dangerously close.

Suddenly Wavedancer vanished to her hip. She placed both hands together, and a long lance appeared in place. The same lance that George had handed her. On her wrist appeared his shield. "Give me strength," she prayed quickly. Taking a deep breath, she charged. The giant had its back to her fortunately. She'd only have one chance.

* * *

From afar, Chas Cassidy saw the horrible scene. He rushed forth, swords held before him. Still, he was too far away. He saw Marianne rushing in, a ten-foot lance in her hand, shield upraised.

"Gladrel Olorin Eluthain!" Chas shouted, loosing a fireball towards the ogre. The meteor arched upwards, crashing right into the creature's face. Angrily he clawed at the flames singing his hair.

His foot slammed into King Arthur, who rolled over and over till he lay quite still. Marianne charged, thrusting her lance deep into the one leg still connected to the ground. A loud roar came as she pulled it free, and stabbed deep again.

She failed to notice its huge spiked club arching down. It slammed against her shield, knocking her backwards. Chas hurled another fire blast, knowing if he made a false move, Marianne could be crushed if the Giant could fall. He hurled yet another fireball, barely grazing the ogre's shoulder. Using the distraction, he reached Arthur and Lydia.

Marianne hurled her lance, the thing skewering the Giant's midriff. Another angry swing slammed bodily into her, sending her flying. Chas's eyes widened in horror as the ogre scooped up her battered form, all set to crush it to death in his large fist.

"Mary!" he screamed, a guttural cry ringing in their ears. His eyes blazed orange red with their own fire. Lydia and Arthur drew in their breaths sharply. For Chas seemed to undergo a very odd transformation.

His long neck rippled with energy, electricity shooting over his form. The body lengthened, merged and stretched into sapphire light, expanding to gargantuan proportions. Within its hand the giant clasped the prostrate form of Marianne Ellis.

Two monstrosities faced off. For in the place of Chas Cassidy stood a forty five-foot sapphire Drake, his fangs bared at the ready. Huge wings unfolded on either side of the scales. Ultramarine with beryl glints rippled over powerful muscle and sinew. A low roar sounded in the Dragon's throat, crescendoing to a loud trumpeting challenge. Fire slammed into the Giant's body, searing over his form. A cry of fear erupted from its throat as it dropped Marianne.

The Dragon moved like lightening, its wing blocking Marianne's fall, pulling her to safety as its claw gently closed round her.

Arthur Pendragon rubbed his head. Lydia Duane shoved her shoulder under his armpit and lifted with a grunt. He let her push him to his feet, his sword arm useless at his side. She grabbed Excalibur and used it as a counterbalance to push up.

Chas struck first, his tail sweeping the hill giant off its feet with the force of a whiplash. Downwards arched the massive spiked club onto the Dragon's sapphire flank. Fire exploded in lashing tongues toward the barrel shaped chest. Still dazed, Arthur shook his head, and let Lydia pull him to the shade of large boulders in the abandoned quarry.

Claws ripped and tore at the Giant's tough hide. Snorts and roars sounded with sickening cracks. The Dragon's long neck snaked around, the fangs plunging into the Giant's neck. There came a snap, punctuated by shuddering muscles as the Giant's nervous systems overloaded. Blue lightening cascaded all up and down, sizzling flesh and the odor of charred hair stinging Lydia and Arthur's nostrils with its acrid stench.

Over its fallen prey the Dragon raised its head with an exultant angry roar. Long wings spanned, fluttering. Then an anguished cry choked in its throat when the blue eyes looked at her form in its claw. She sagged in his grasp, broken like a cheap doll. Her armor fizzled out of existence long ago. Gently, with the greatest care the Dragon slipped its muzzle near the fallen warrior, sniffing her. A long forked tongue licked over her form, at her cheek.

"Good Lord," Lydia managed to get out at the scene. Arthur slowly came to his senses, blinking rapidly at the fallen giant's bulk which blocked his view of Marianne. All he could make out was a massive neck dipping, then rising with an anguished piercing tenor shriek. Such a sound wrenched their ears with its discord.

By the time they limped over to her the Dragon's muzzle brushed tenderly over Marianne's body. The strangest sound, a cross between a clarinet and a cello resonated from the Sapphire's throat. Soothing vibrations reached them, almost healing it its caress.

"Mary . . . " Lydia mouthed. That strange angle her leg bent at seemed far unnatural.

"Milady . . . "

The Dragon turned its head, snarling low in its throat. Arthur raised a hand toward it, "Hold now . . . we are allies . . . "

A shimmering crept along the Dragon's form. All at once it collapsed like a deflated parade balloon into the shape of the graceful photojournalist. Chas leaned over Marianne, voice choked in his throat as he lowered her to the ground in his arms.

"Mary please, stay wi me!"

"Aha," came a sharp cry from the side. Arthur Pendragon and Lydia Duane turned to see the shape of Morgan Le Fay materializing. "You stupid fools! You should have run in fear when you had the chance!"

"Sister, are you responsible? God help me . . . " Pendragon growled.

"You should do well to ask that brother dear," she cooed. "Yes, I summoned the shadow beings, and the Ogre. But it was only to stop you from entering the cave!"

"Why . . . " Lydia stammered out.

"You would have surely met a worse fate opening it, and could have well sealed all our dooms! We have mutual enemies in this. But even now your fool quest has endangered one to whom you have placed your trust . . . "

"But the maiden?"

"Will surely die if you do not surrender this quest. For it is not a place you must enter . . . "

"Curse you . . . " Chas gritted under his breath. "If she dies so help me . . . "

"I am not without compassion, Taliesin," she said, glancing at him with a bit of sorrow. "I have respect for she who is your chosen mate. She will not die. For even now I have the power to alter probability . . . "

"Save your magic," Lydia stammered out.

"Not that," Chas whispered. "Her body could not take it. I will not place myself in your debt, nor her!"

"Regardless you are a fool to refuse me. But as you have done so," Morgan muttered a sharp sound in her throat. "And so be her death on your hands . . . "

"Why . . . " Arthur stammered out. "Who has lead us here? If you have to kill us . . . I shall fight you I swear."

"Nay. This is a gateway to another realm. One which for the sake of Britain must remain closed . . . "

"Is this not the imprisoned place of Merlin?" Arthur demanded.

"Nay, brother," she said. "It is a false marker that you followed. One that which pointed to the accesses of the Drau, the Dark ones. Those whose kingdom must be shut at all costs. No, you would do well not to open it..."

"So you would take their power?" Arthur spat. "How do we know you don't intend to open the way if we leave?"

"The stench of their magic is upon ye," Chas growled. "If only I had known . . . "

"No. They would not let me rule as I wish," said she calmly. "Power such as this must stay as it is. My methods do not have the seed of this, only the shade. You would have unwittingly destroyed us all with this release . . . "

"And where is Merlin?"

"Not far, but farther still. For there are several meanings to that riddle . . . and you will be wise to listen well. Even now the Unseelie rival my power. Yet soon not even they would be able to stop me..."

Chas blue eyes grew cold at the sound of the word, Arthur's eyes narrowed in anger.

"But out of sake for what we once had, Taliesin I warn you beware of them. For you have made many enemies among them, as I have."

"Leave me," he choked. She vanished, a look of regret on that face perhaps?

"The Unseelie," Arthur choked. "Dark elves did this?"

Morgan turned to Chas. "Farewell my erstwhile love. May you be happy with the woman you have chosen . . . for she is not long for this world. I could have saved her . . . "

"Never will she owe you her life," Chas gritted, at the fading figure of Morgan.

It was then that Lydia's cell phone crackled into life. The ethereal mists vanished, taking the giant with it. They simply stood in the gravelly pits of the abandoned strip mine. "Hello . . . get me General three two," Lydia stammered out. "Emergency!"

"Mary!" cried the tenor voice of her lover. "Mary! Stay wi me!"

* * *

_All was stillness and silence to Marianne. Slowly she felt her consciousness swallowed into dark. A small flickering candle faltered in the cold wind, slowly puttering out._

_The sights and sounds of breaking bones and the ground fast roaring up under her suddenly stopped. Overhead rose the anguished wail of Olorin, that dragon of which she had once known. Spectral scales glistened in the dying sunlight. Yet Olorin yet not, for the next moment she could hear the anguished cries of Chas leaning over her. Could it be he was connected with the dragon in an intimate way she had not before realized?_

_Her next thoughts vanished into the black mist that seeped over her consciousness. Darkness fell, the light fast vanishing. Marianne felt nothing and everything passing away. Then through the dark, shapes took form. Waste and void formed a small flickering radiance that sputtered into a spark._

_It was terrifying yet free of pain to her. How nice it would be to go asleep for eternity in the dark, for it was not a void but a nighttime rich with embracing presence. Now that the darkness had a form, she could begin to hear voices, a flood of many pouring in around in a cacophony she struggled to drown out. Then a pure clear tone split through, drawing her closer and closer. Only her will seemed to exist as she hurled herself to the single note drowning out all others the more she moved._

_There was a pinprick of light ahead, and she screamed in fear and sudden joy at the odd blurring passageway. A sensation of moving so fast yet painfully slow, for the light ahead beckoned, a universe away. She could not approach fast enough, till she reached its threshold. When it seemed she was ten feet away she found her feet again, and a shrouded huddle of figures, faceless holding their hands out to her._

_It was terrifying . . . yet free of pain. Her heart pounded, and seemed to fill with light. As if in response to her fear, the figure before her suddenly became recognizable. "Gramma?" she asked._

_Hands grasped hers, pulling her forwards. A lined face merged into youth. At her elbow stood another person, with hair that was as dark as hers, a mirror image._

_"Mary MacLaren," she mouthed._

_Two women, smiling at her with nothing but love and sadness in their eyes. Past them an infinity of light and sound. She glanced down, seeing the strange clothing of silver light swathing her body._

_Marianne heard another song, sad and sonorous from behind. She turned to glance into the darkness to see another light faintly traversing. A faint sapphire light tinged with warm fire that slowly expanded to the figure of a fellow in Bardic robes. The Taliesin._

_"I am sorry," she said to the two, turning. "I... there . . . is so much yet to do . . . but I hurt so badly . . . "_

_"It is your choice," said her Gramma. "You have born so much. Come home . . . stay with those who love you . . . "_

_"I love you, Mary me girl," came the plea of the Taliesin, his dark hair blowing softly over his face, the Aegean eyes moist with tears. "Please . . . stay with me . . . "_

_"Rhynth..." she found herself stammering, as his hand gripped hers tightly. "I'm so sorry . . . it's all so sudden . . . "_

_"Branwynn... please . . . come back to me," he whispered faintly. Already he became spectral, as a ghost. Her hand passed through his, the emerald sleeve blowing in silent wind._

_"Gran . . . what do I do?" she asked, turning to her. Another figure had replaced her, a robed man, slightly bearded._

_"Are you . . . " she asked._

_"Not He, but a servant," said the figure softly, touching her shoulder._

_"Andrew," she cleared her throat. "Do I have . . . to go back? I... love him . . . "_

_"Go . . . there is so much yet to be done . . . and he loves you," said Andrew, slowly receding as he planted a kiss upon her forehead._

_"Branwynn . . . stay with me!" he cried. "Don't let me face the centuries alone . . . "_


	9. Conclusion Dare I pluck a flower

Disclaimer: The characters of Gargoyles are owned by Disney Buena Vista Co. Chas (Charles) Quin Cassidy is owned by Javagoddess, and used with her permission. Marianne, Cameron, Bertram and Elaine MacLaren Ellis, as are Anne Pricefield Duane and the characters of Raveloe, are my own characters, and if you want to use her in fanfic, let me know first, thanks! This story is written to continue a great saga of unusual story lines, and means no harm to Gargoyles. This is rated PG for violence and some adult situations.

**To Slay or Not to Slay the Dragon**

_**Conclusion: Dare I Pluck a Flower?**_

By Trynia Merin/Janeth Rhian

* * *

the ER, Cambridge Hospital, 6 PM: 

"What happened?" Bertram asked frantically as he rushed down the emergency room corridor. Before him he pushed a frantic Elaine in her wheelchair, Cameron rushing to keep up with both of them.

"An automobile accident, hit and run," said Lydia Duane. "We didn't see it coming. "

"Chas somehow knew she was in danger, and reached her before we did. When we came out of the quarry, they were both there he was beside her worrying."

"Chas . . . he went to help her and when we found him," Cameron stammered. "She was by the side of the road, and he knew exactly where she was!"

Bertram burst into the er, even though the nurses and orderlies tried to hold him back. Marianne lay there in a mess of bandages, tubes thrust into her mouth, and her arm. At the side of her bed was a bundle of leather and denim. Upon second glance Bertram realized it was the reporter, hunched over his daughter, clutching her hand.

"Mary, I know ye can hear me love," came the gentle soft voice. "Ye may not be able t' respond. But I'm here."

Elaine shot her husband a warning glance not to interfere. They stopped at the doorway, listening to the low plea unfolding, "I could na' heal ye wi my powers. Fer the injuries were too great but I am no going t' leave yer side . . . I swear upon that. And ye know. When ye get out of here . . . I promise I'll take ya t' Ireland. T' see one of the villages I called home. You always wanted t' know more about me."

Bertram silently pushed Elaine to the side. Cameron clutched the bouquet of flowers in his hand absently, seeming to forget they were there. None made a sound to disturb Chas' soft talking to their daughter. She lay so still under a sheet pulled up to her chest. Like a martyr on some damnable Westminster tomb she had her hands folded over her breast, chin and bandaged head pointed straight up. Her right leg was encased in a cast, newly minted in a traction pull. Chas' olive hand lightly stroked over her bandaged brow as he spoke, "Mary . . . we've only jest met, curse it! Don't ye leave me nau. There's so much I want t' share with you. I've waited centuries for ye, don't let me face them alone!"

His face crumpled as he buried his head on her chest. The long black ponytail quivered with low sobs. Elaine pushed herself up to his side, her hand slowly quaking toward his leather jacketed shoulder.

"Mr. Cassidy," she started. Then cleared her throat, "Chas?"

Swollen blue eyes looked at them, a shade of the deepest blue grey. "Professor MacLaren . . . Ellis . . . Cameron . . . I'm sorry I didn't see ya there."

"No lad, stay there," Bertram said, helping Chas to sit in a chair Cameron pulled up. "We know all about what happened. You quite possibly saved our daughter's life."

"If only I had gotten there sooner," Chas buried his head in his hands.

"You got there when it counted," Cameron said. "Look sport, the doctors said that if she had lay there ten more minutes she would have bled to death. I don't know how you did it but you kept her going."

"Your healing powers?" Elaine asked. The look in those brown eyes was not one of sarcasm, but genuine belief.

"I'm no where near powerful enough t' save her," Chas rubbed his face. "Only t' keep body and soul together till they came. And fer all my arts tis up to her nau."

Lydia kept distant from the Ellis clan. Somehow she felt she was intruding. The strangest images flowed just beyond her mind's eye reach. Had it been an illusion? The Morgan le fay, the giant? Chas had called it a psychic battle, sent to distract them. He'd wakened with a cry, screaming Mary's name as his eyes blazed yellow.

"There is one other thing we can do," Mrs. Ellis said softly.

"And what be that?" Chas asked, looking for all the world as if he'd let them all down. "I came too late. If only . . . if only . . . "

"Shh," she whispered, taking his hand in hers. "What I mean is, we all can pray. Pray for her. You're here... and I think she knows it."

"Pray," scoffed Cameron. "I pray those bastard what copped her will suffer."

"Cam, enough," Bertram barked. Cameron lapsed into sullen silence.

Elaine bowed her head, and began to pray a simple prayer. Chas had heard it many a time before over the centuries, when he'd had the occasion to set foot inside a church. From a book of common prayer no less, he'd heard in Latin, Common English, and other variations it had not lost its potency. He felt the influx of Elaine's spirit moving into him, buying up his own strength. Cameron reluctantly inclined his own head with his father, all lips moving silently. It was not the habit of Anglicans to mutter in prayer. Just silent contemplation that seemed detached from all other.

Chas slipped his hands into Elaine's marshaling his strength. It would take all of them to see Mary through . . .

Elaine's voice droned on, as she read from that small book:

_FATHER of mercies, and God of all comfort, our only help in time of need: We fly unto thee for succor in behalf of this thy servant, here lying under thy hand in great weakness of body. Look graciously upon her, 0 Lord; and the more the outward man decayeth, strengthen him, we beseech thee, so much the more continually with thy grace and Holy Spirit in the inner man. Give her unfeigned repentance for all the errors of her life past, and steadfast faith in thy Son Jesus; that her sins may be done away by thy mercy, and her pardon sealed in heaven, before she go hence, and be no more seen. We know, 0 Lord, that there is no word impossible with thee; and that, if thou wilt, thou canst even yet raise her up, and grant him a longer continuance amongst us: Yet, forasmuch as in all appearance the time of her dissolution draweth near, so fit and prepare her, we beseech thee, against the hour of death, that after her departure hence in peace, and in thy favour, her soul may be received into thine everlasting kingdom, through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ, thine only Son, our Lord and Savior. Amen._

(Source 1662 Book of Common Prayer)

Together they huddled about in silent supplication, counting the hours that were loathe to pass.

* * *

Cambridge General Hospital, one week later:

"Dare I pluck a flower . . . " Chas sang softly in a rich tenor voice by her bedside. For nearly a week he had sat there, only stopping to take food or water when offered. A black leather case lay at the side of his chair, open to a gleaming varnished violin.

Lydia Duane slowly entered, carrying a vase of flowers. At her elbow strode the regal figure of Arthur Pendragon, his armor concealed beneath the long duster coat Anne had given him. He'd removed the golden crown, his long brown hair swept back into a loose ponytail.

"You have been here ere long," Arthur said softly, noticing the rough whiskers bedecking Chas' normally clean shaven face.

At first Chas didn't look up to acknowledge their presence. The blue eyes were shot with grey, fixed into another dimension almost, of song and trance. He looked drawn, peaked. How long had he gone without food or water?

"Sorry," he turned his head toward them. "I... er . . . was . . . "

Arthur raised his hand, and smiled slightly. "You have stayed by her side, let no more be said."

Lydia noticed the futon on the floor next to Mary's bed. A quilt draped over Marianne, a lovely patchwork thing. Pinned to the pillow next to her cheek was a medallion of St. George. Just who had left that there, Lydia wondered. Small pieces of home and familiarity decked the hospital room here and there, transforming sterility to an ambience of comfort.

"I'm so sorry," Lydia blurted out before she could help herself. "If only I had not found that stone."

"No, twas my fault alone," Arthur bowed his head. "I enlisted the aid of you, and thus endangered the Lady."

"Please, stop this," Chas interrupted with a low quiet voice. "Blame is something we all share. No a guid thing t' be taking onto one person. Tis enau."

"What... if?" Lydia stammered out.

"I will worry when and if that happens," Chas muttered dully. "Cannot see past then."

"You have my prayers," Arthur said, laying a hand upon his arm. "And my gratitude for helping me to see the error of rushing into things. I pray there be an easier way... for if the Dark ones emerge what would have befallen this world?"

"The Unseelie have had it in fer me for a long time," Chas looked up, dark circles under his eyes. "Faith, trust them t' leave a thousand of those stones scattered across the countryside there be no telling how many false trails yer quest lie upon."

"I must renew the search," Arthur shook his head. "But I cannot bear to trouble you further. Even if it means losing your knowledge and experience, you and your love have suffered enough."

"Wait Arthur," Lydia took in a deep breath.

"Yes milady?"

"You say you need someone familiar with the customs of this time... on your... quest. And someone who knows something of the old languages... well..."

"What say you, lady?" he rose an eyebrow.

"If you would not mind there is another who could help you on your quest. Let Chas... and Marianne find their own way."

"Who else would be a better helpmate to me?" he asked.

"Myself for one," Lydia blurted out. "I am an archaeologist. Granted I don't know as much about Arthurian legends and Celtic lore as Chas... but I am rather well versed in the myths and legends... and I do like to travel."

"What of yer life and career?" Chas looked up.

"This is a far greater cause," she looked down at her feet. "I've seen so many things in the past year. And Arthur, you must not be alone on your quest. If you'll have me I'd love to join your quest."

"I would be honored," Arthur inclined his head. "But to put you into further danger is wrong."

"Well, you do have Griff," she gave a nervous giggle.

"And your sister, and your colleagues?" Arthur asked.

"I... er... well, could check in from time to time. Please?"

"Ye have the answer before ye," Chas looked to Arthur Pendragon. "I suggest ye take what friends ye find, where ye find. Fer yer Quest is something that fate has put ye on. And I take my own fate. If it be without or with Marianne... I'll ne'er leave her side."

"Let us talk more on this, milady," Arthur said, offering his arm. "Milord, may I take my leave, and offer my sincerest hopes for you and your lady, that she returns to your side? If it be God's will."

Chas gripped his hand, and that of Lydia Duane. Both slipped out of the room quietly, leaving the Bard in silent pleas.

"We shall not be far away," Arthur bowed, respectfully as they passed through the door.

* * *

_Once a farewell to thee, my beloved one_

_Forever separated but for a separate time_

_Till pride and pain have overpassed_

_Humility and humble revelation._

Marianne felt herself returning to the consciousness of existence. What had been blackness suddenly became a blurring of light and sound. She could follow the trail of the Taliesin, a shimmering sapphire light back to familiarity. Just how long she had been on this road she could not tell. Had it been centuries, or only a few seconds? She was at a loss to mark time in this mix of dark and light. Save the sounds that kept creeping past her still body:

_Two separate souls hoped to reunite_

_Across the misty shores of Avalon's banks_

That song. She had not heard it before. Yet she remembered something, a snatch of something on Lydia's desk that day she'd first come to Raveloe. How long ago was that? Time had no meaning. How good it would be to lay there in the dark, sleeping timeless dreams like King Arthur.

King Arthur. Dragons. Morgana. The dark ones. All thoughts passed through with rapid fire behind her sightless eyes. Each though was carried on the sonorous cry of a violin strain, hauntingly familiar and full of desire. Within it carried the song's words:

_Two lovers whose realities intertwined_

_One ancient, one fleeting, yet forever fused_

_As mist to tree, and root to soil_

_Never parted, yet uprooted for a time_

_Now lie close in verdant passion's bloo_m

_Forever on the brink of life and death._

The brink of life and death. _Was that where I am now_, she wondered. _I want to come back... god I want to come back. Just show me the way to move my arms, and my leg that stings with such pain!_

Pain, in her heart and soul, washed away. Pain that seemed to have a home in her battered body. If the Dragon had not appeared she would have been surely crushed. Or was she?

Marianne opened her eyes. Gone was the light, the dark, only a dull grey. She could hear a faint tone pulsing, like a rhythm. A cadence of a heartbeat. Her heartbeat. Dull heavy limbs that refused to shake off sleep, she could hardly move her hand. When she at last shifted she saw white wrappings.

"Oh god, I'm a mummy," she stammered out. Frantic eyes glanced down, seeing the tip of a white blur where he foot would be, strung to an odd rope that snaked to an overhanging pole, with a triangle dangling a foot above her face. Strange tubes snaking into her arm, and wires here and there. Too contemporary.

"Did you see that! She blinked," came a voice, smooth and much like her own.

"No, it's a trick of the light," came another. Cameron.

"Keep playing, I think she heard you," came her father's voice.

_Bloom my love, Bloom and spread your sweet pollen into the Mists..._

_Lest you never know their gentle timeless kiss..._

One by one the lights went on in her mind. Why was it so hard to move, to speak? She had to say something, to communicate! But her tongue seemed made of lead! She moved her lips, only to hear her own breath rushing out.

"D... dare... I..." she stammered out.

"She said something!" came a voice.

"No... stop playing!" came a frenzy of voices all at once.

"Shh!" hissed someone.

At last, someone had heard her! Marianne couldn't think of the words, so many she wanted to say at once. All that came out was a tune that somehow cycled around and around in her brain, and her numb tongue could easily wrap around it. In a low tone, which sounded very loud in her heavy, gauze ridden head, she sang, "Dare I pluck a flower... tear up it's root. From verdant soil, taking it beyond the realities to my timeless realm? It is enough to know it bloomed for a day in my grasp."

"M' song," came a gasp. "She's... singing ma song."

"Mary, can you hear me!"

"Doctor! She's awake!" came an ecstatic scream that must be Cameron. The cries echoed into the distance.

"Marianne... are you back with us?"

It became easier to open her eyes now, and she looked at each and every blur, a slight smile on her lips. They were all there, her father, brother, mother, and lover. Clustered around. Chas must be the blur on the far right, with the brown blur under his chin. His fiddle! He'd brought it in and was playing it all along?

Cameron was limping in, ecstatic look on his face. "She's alive!" he screamed, till his father shushed him.

"Oh sweetheart, you came back," Elaine gripped her other hand. "Marianne... my baby you came back to us!"

"Musha, ma Musha," Chas gripped her other hand, still clutching his fiddle in the other. "Ye returned t' me! T us!"

"You fought bravely, my dear," her father nodded. "Bravely indeed."

How could they have known? The fight with the ogre, who had all but smashed her body to broken bits on the moor side? Or the Dragon that had appeared and saved her?

Later the Doctor came in, and all was a blur of questions and body readings. A time of healing, and pain pills. Laying in a bed in her home, carted home in a wheelchair till her leg mended.

* * *

The Town of Raveloe, Anne Pricefield's House, two weeks later:

"Please, consider this your second home, Arthur," Anne said, as he gathered his possessions.

"Thanks milady, and my sincerest gratitude. But I must return."

"Are you quite sure that you want to go with him, sis?" Anne asked Lydia.

"I had been hoping to take a sabbatical," Lydia said.

"But what will I tell Arthur?" she asked.

"Just that. I am taking a sabbatical. I hope you can continue the work here... together..."

"I'm sure, we can keep the dig going," Anne said with a slight wink. "But Arthur will be ever so disappointed."

"He'll get over it, with the right persuasion," Lydia smiled, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "After all, my niece and nephew think he's the tops!"

"Just... be sure to come back home every few months for dinner... and a bit of tea. My door's always open..."

Anne and Lydia embraced, a silent understanding passing between them. Lydia passed her a note carefully tucked into an envelope. "Make sure Arthur gets this, will you?"

"All right," Anne breathed deeply. "I do hope for your sake you find what you're looking for. Good luck..."

* * *

The Ellis Household, Cambridge, a fortnight later: 

"You're doing what?" Marianne's mother spoke into the phone. Marianne lay on the couch in the sitting room, bending her leg under Chas' firm hand.

"Jest a bit more mind ye," he urged, his face softening at the pain in her face.

"It hurts like hell," she grunted. Fortunately it had been a clean break, in the femur, just above the knee joint. It meant three weeks in a bloody cast, where she couldn't move her leg and felt like Long John Silver on those crutches! Much like her own mother.

"I know Musha, but be glad ye had it off in half the time! Guid thing ye were in such good shape or it'd be on for eight," Chas urged. "Nau, put yer foot against ma chest and lean in."

She sighed, doing as she was told, bracing her slippered foot into his shoulder. Chas leaned in, giving the resistance of his body as he supported beneath her leg with his hands. She gritted, straining against him with all her strength.

"Physical therapy," she snorted. "Feels like bloody physical torture!"

"You're going on Sabbatical, in the middle of a dig?" Elaine repeated. Marianne and Chas glanced over in her direction, Mary's foot still braced on Chas' chest. She didn't look happy at all.

Bertram Ellis walked in, carrying a tray in his hands. "How goes the exercise, Mary?" he asked.

"She's behaving herself well enau," Chas nodded. "If I can just get her t' pay attention."

"Don't start with me," Marianne gritted, continuing the stretching exercise. Elaine held up her hand for silence, and everyone complied. Still she appeared to be listening, the frown on her face deepening with each passing moment.

Finally she clapped down the receiver, shaking her head. "Idiot," she muttered. "After all I've done for her, this is how she repays me?"

"What's wrong, luv?" her husband asked, going to her side with a cup of tea.

"Lydia Duane, possibly one of my best students, suddenly announcing she was going on sabbatical! When she was close to one of the archaeological finds of the century! She says she's taking off to Scotland to study ruins there! If the Red paint people existed!"

"Mum, what's going on?" Marianne asked.

"I cannot believe it," Elaine shook her head, picking up her cup of tea and gulping down a few angry sips.

"Why is that so bad?" Chas asked. "T' ask a stupid question."

"No young man it's not a stupid question, and there is no such thing," Elaine snapped. Chas raised an eyebrow about being called a 'young man'. "What I am angry about is that one of my former students, who was quiet well on her way to becoming a leading authority on 4th century Celtic archaeology, is chucking it all in on a whim... to run off with some man she met named Arthur."

"Arthur Morewood Smythe?" Bertram hoped.

"No," she shook her head. "Mr. Morewood Smythe called me last week and told me. So did Anne. They're continuing the dig themselves. Already they've found rather intriguing evidence that it wasn't Merlin's cave. But a proto Celt settlement... with Roman influence."

"Is it enough for a museum there?" Marianne asked.

"Yes," Elaine shook her head. "But that's not the point! Lydia believed in that site! It wasn't like her to go running off without a bye or leave."

"Sometimes you have to go out on a limb, don't you Da?" Marianne said. "What if she makes some important find... that could make her career even more stellar? You're always telling me to take risks..."

"There's risks, and foolhardiness," Elaine sighed again.

"Yer' goin' t miss her aren't ye," Chas guessed. "She's like a daughter to ye, and yer afraid she'll fall?"

"I suppose, young man," she shook her head. "I'm just... disappointed."

"Can ye no give her a chance t' fall fer herself?" Chas asked. "She has t' make her ain career, and that's what ye wanted, right?"

"He has a point, dear," Bertram said, sitting on the arm of his wife's office chair.

"Oh very well," Elaine waved her hand. "But if she falls... I don't know if her career can recover a blow such as this."

"Mum, please, I know Lydia. She has a reason for it. It may not make sense to us, but who are we to question her dreams?" Marianne suddenly offered. She was thankful her mother had another target for her frustrations, even though she didn't envy Lydia having that distinct honor.

Elaine didn't' have an answer to this save, "Did she tell either of you this?"

"She seemed quite taken with Arthur," said Marianne. "People do foolish things... for love."

That remark raised both her parent's eyebrows. "And didn't you and Da, take a risk when you ran away to Egypt together, when Gran wanted you to stay behind and finish your doctorate?" Mary continued. "And boom, you're married here, thirty years later."

"She's got a point ma'am," Chas put in, not unlike Bertram.

Bertram took his wife's hand, and patted it. "I've not regretted it, have you, dear?"

"All right, all right," Elaine rolled her eyes. "You win. This is out of my hands. Just don't say I didn't warn her..."

Marianne looked to Chas, her father, then her mother. It seemed like such a domestic tranquil eye in the storm. To think she was deathly afraid of what they'd think of her new lover. But here he was, sitting in their room and bantering like one of the family! If only some other things were so easy.

"Oh, forgot to tell you dear. Postcard from Cam. He's met with Zahi Hawass, and sends his regards," Bertram handed Elaine a small picture card.

"Hmm," Elaine muttered, taking it and giving it a glance. "I hope he behaves himself."

The card made it around to Marianne and Chas. The postcard bore the Sphinx and pyramids on it. Zahi Hawass sends his regards, and the dig goes well. She couldn't help but choke when she thought of another Sphinx, which seemed so distant in the past as this.

"Hope he gets back in one piece," Chas joked, glancing at the postcard with her. "Why did ye not go, sir?"

Bertram realized Chas was referring to him. "Oh well, it's like you said. Got to give the children a chance to make their own career. But I do hope he remembers to send me the latest findings when I join him in September at Thebes. Besides, I can hardly run out when my little girl's on the mend, can't I, Annie?"

"Da," she groaned at the nickname. She could hardly stand it as a child. But she was hardly a child. Only perhaps a child in the face of the life she'd been thrust into this past year. To the ends of time and back, and now to the brink of death and back. Where would her journeys next take her, she wondered. Should prove an interesting trip no doubt. As long as she did not have to walk the path alone, it seemed to matter little where she did next arrive.

They continued their tea in quiet conversation. Talking of this and that as the evening wore on by itself in the Ellis household. Such moments of peace were rare, and she had paid a great price this time to savor them. It was a long painful road ahead indeed, but as she looked into Chas' eyes, and the laughing face of her father and mother, she felt it was somehow worth it. For what was joy without sorrow, or health without sickness?

Fin.

Hope you enjoyed this sequel to St. George's Gift. I want to extend a warm thank you to Javagoddess Janeth Rhian for writing and developing the ideas for this story, and her knowlege of Celtic myths. I certainly couldn't have done it without you!


End file.
